The Long Journey
by BIBOTOT
Summary: On the brink of losing his humanity, an Imperial soldier finds his hope restored as he falls in love with Eldar woman. But such things as hope and love tend not to last in the galaxy of war. Together, they must protect their relationship from encroachments of those who wished to make puppets out of them, be they friends or foes. What can remain when the journey is so long?
1. Chapter 1: Overseer

It was another day in hell.

On board the Eternity of Torment.

Life is hard when everything wants you dead, but there are things in this universe that you wish you were dead before they get to you. Though the degradation of the body is a deplorable sight, the rotting of the soul deep inside is something truly horrifying to behold.

Carlos Levantia did not know what was worse: that he was no longer the human being he once knew, or that he no longer cared he was not anymore. His opinion on philosophy hardly mattered right now. Under the circumstances, he had no choice, or at least he thought so. The idealistic Tempstus Scion Carlos Levantia who once fought in the name of what he believed, in the name of humanity and of the Emperor, was gone now, dead and buried. In place, a pathetic, spineless traitor of the worst kind.

All it took was a little motivation from his undying desire to survive, despite everything he was taught told him that death was a much better option. And the Dark Eldar, too. Following a disastrous battle in which his entire regiment was wiped out in a masterful ambush by the Kabal of the Shadow Talon, Levantia was captured, stripped of his freedom and dignity, and turned into a slave.

The day started out normally with the klaxon ringing a cacophony that would wake even the dead. As soon as the cell door opened, Levantia and a group of twenty three slaves had already stepped into a line, awaiting inspection. The Dark Eldar Sybarite supervisor walked in and gave everyone a whip in the back to remind them who they served and whose mercy they were living on. There were some silent moans, but not much else. Once the lecturing was over, the supervisor separated the group and assigned each one of them to work in different places. All part of a normal day of an overseer.

There were two types of slaves on this ship: one to work, not much different from forced labor applied to criminals in Imperial society, the other entirely subject to torture, both body and mind. Levantia was amongst the former, the so-called overseers, one of the less than zero-point-one percent. In many ways, his position was enviable. Though the Dark Eldar saw both groups as nothing more than filthy inferior creatures to exploit, they regard overseers as a resource that should, at least for the time being, be used more sparingly as long as scarcity remained a problem. For an alien race with advance technology beyond the imagination, let alone the grasp, of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Dark Eldar relied surprisingly on a lot on manual labor. Levantia assumed this was partly because they lacked the psychic capability of their Craftworld kin, but probably more due to the fact almost all of their technologies were aimed at making life more difficult for their foe rather than easier for themselves. As a result of their importance in maintaining the Kabal at full efficiency, the overseers received more benefits than the others, including subsistence level of sustenance, minimum level of respect and, though far from complete immunity from, being less likely a target for torturing. And since the Dark Eldar loved to torture their victims as much as a chef loved to cook, that was enough an incentive.

Today, Levantia was ordered to go to the Haemonculus chamber for some "cleaning up" to do. A Dark Eldar Wrack led him there. The hunched, masked creature seemed to be in a pitiful state, like an old and senile person, but Levantia was not quick to underestimate it. The Wracks conserved their energy when possible and only responded to the demands of the Haemonculus, not even the Archon being able to exert authority directly over them. In battle, they could limp at one second and sprint at the speed of light the next, whatever combat drug the Haemonculus prescribed to them working in a more sporadic manner than the rest of the Dark Eldar.

As he tread across the hallway, his eyes were drawn to the displays on the walls, testaments of how the Dark Eldar were masters of the dark forms of artistry more than anyone else in the universe, surpassing even the Officio Assassinarium and the Forces of Chaos . No matter how many times he walked through this corridor, the sensation remained the same. The drawings were enthralling in a malicious way. They were glorious depictions of scenes of gleeful slaughter, decadent pleasure and twisted beauty. Next to them were trophies taken from scores of successful raids against lesser races, ranging from human bones to Ork teeth, Tyranid chitin plates to broken Necron limbs. Skulls of a dozen races were hung high on the wall, their eyes gorged out and their tough cut off. As Levantia had noted, many of them belonged to Dark Eldar, rivals as well as those that fell out of favor with the rest of the Kabal of the Shadow Talon.

As they reached the chamber, the Wrack muttered something behind his mask before heading off, leaving Levantia to enter by himself.

The place was a laboratory for all intents and purposes, but for all Levantia bothered to care, it might have been a charnel house. The walls were lined with shelves laden with bottles and flasks containing freakish-colored concoctions, mutilated body pieces and many other disturbing items Levantia felt glad he never knew what they were exactly. Even a person who closed his eyes would not be able to escape the horror laid before him, for the air reeked of death and the floor covered in thick, crimson slime that made his boots slipped. A muffled screech echoed somewhere. Levantia hoped it was just him hallucinating.

A lone figure stood at the middle of the room. It was the Haemonculus, chemist and surgeon of the Dark Eldar. The creature was a thing from nightmares, a monster, three meters tall with six arms and a ragged skull embedded with nails. The thing's feet did not touch the ground as it floated in the air levitated by a set of ugly tentacles protruding from its back.

"You have a need for this inferior one, master?" the human asked, trying not to be afraid.

The Dark Eldar turned from what he was doing. Under dim light, Levantia saw a torture rack behind him. On top of it, whatever poor soul that was, Levantia fervently prayed it was dead. He immediately felt a dagger to his heart as he saw the figures, or what was left of it, started twitching, attempting reaching out, hoping for salvation, only to be extinguished with another surge of agony.

"Why, yes," the Haemonculus replied. "See the floor? It's been a while since I looked down, me being busy with good business and all of that." The Dark Eldar let out a chuckle that sickened Levantia on all levels. He saw nothing to understand or sympathize with these creatures, even after knowing their origin, the Fall of the Eldar Empire, the gradual erosion of their very soul and all that. They were intentional, they loved what they were doing and never wanted to stop, they showed remorse nor worry to the decline of their race. The denizens of the Commorragh existed merely to spread suffering across the galaxy, both before and after the Fall.

"It's filthy, my lord," said Levantia without looking down.

"Yes, of course," the Haemonculus laughed. "If it is so obvious that something as underdeveloped as a Mon'keigh can notice, then I must be losing my touch. Oh my, oh my. Now when have I…"

There was a slight pause. The being on the rack started to spasm. Levantia knew it was human now. No matter how much he wished to ignore that person's plight, the sight was imprinted in his soul like a dagger on wood. His heart ached. The tiny voice in his head telling him to look away was quickly drowned out by the overwhelming morbid curiosity. He wanted to shut his eyes, to run away from the sight, but his whole body refused to move even the slightest. Truly, nothing in this universe could ever ensnare the eyes, the imagination, and the consciousness of a human being more than the distress of its fellow kin. Between the creaking noises of limbs fighting hopelessly against the restraints, Levantia could make out the barely audible scream.

_Help me…forgive me…kill me._

"Quiet you," the Haemonculus dropped a hand at the poor thing on the rack, and it felt silent. The Dark Eldar turned to smile at the overseer. "Normally, I would leave this to my faithful servants, but they are out now in the Archon's raiding party, bringing me new specimens, bringing me new sources of joy. The only one left is I'khor, and he is sort of a pushover. I am delegating this to you instead, overseer. Clean this place up, will you? I want every spot in this chamber spotless and sparkling, or your skull will be so."

"Yes, most almighty one."

Familiar drill by now, Levantia did not hesitate as he began his duty. He reached for the broom and began the dreary business of wiping the blood-soaked floor. The Haemonculus continued with his work and for Emperor knew how long, they went about minding their business without any notice of the existence of one another. It was as though Levantia had found a new purpose of life, one that if an Inquisitor found out about, Levantia would no doubt be executed at least two times over, one for weakness and the other for willingly collaborating with the xenos.

_Work…work…work._

_Work hard._

_Be obedient._

_Give no feeling to the situation of your kin._

_No other choice. No other option._

_Act like a dog and you will survive. Yes, survive, but not _live_._

Day in, day out, all of these have become normal, which was anything but in any sense. Sometimes, Levantia questioned how low he had fallen, what kind of heartless beast he had become, if he was anywhere better than the xenos. And every time, the answer was simple: there was no other choice left.

In another day, this would have gone fine, but today was different. Without warning, the Haemonculus seized the human overseer with two of his hands and brought in next to the rack. Levantia neither protested nor resisted; with such strength that carried him, he was better off be cooperative for now. Another hand reached for the back of the overseer's head and pressed it closer, forcing him to take a good look at the being on the rack.

God Emperor's Mercy. It was still alive.

The being was in such pitiful shape that Levantia was reluctant to refer to as anything other than "it". There was no distinction of what sex this person might have been, or anything to indicate this was human in the first place. What was left was an unholy mess of skin patchwork that had been flayed and glued back, a horribly deformed face and testicles overlapping outside the body.

But there was beauty in it. The concept. The design. The execution. The symmetry. The shapes and sizes of cuts. They were all perfect. It took Levantia a while to realize this was beyond a pile of mess: it was a work of art. A dark one, that is.

"Is it not remarkable?" asked the Haemonculus. "They told me you have a good eye for it, that you stared at my works outside more than anyone else on this ship. So, how does this one look?"

Levantia felt his blood boiling. The hatred he felt for this being was becoming unbearable. Humanity sometimes ha to degrade itself to step further in the long run, but the Dark Eldar degraded humanity simply for the fun of it. This was the breaking point. No longer would he tolerate the filthy xenos. Even in death, he would at least show them…

"Mon'keigh overseer," came a voice Levantia had become strangely acquainted with. "I need you to the deck right now."

"Awww," cooed the Haemonculus, turning around to address the woman standing at the door. "Don't tell me you are here to take away my critic. It's so hard to have people with good taste for high arts these days."

"Save it for later," said the female Dark Eldar. She had slender tight body, sharp face and jet black hair fashioned into a braid that ran to her feet. All in all, she was attractive and more endowed than most of her kind. "The Archon's party is returning from the latest raid. We should all not try to displease him."

The mention of the Archon might have had some effect on the Haemonculus, because he let go of Levantia immediately. Holding back the vomit in his throat, the human overseer rushed towards the door as soon as possible, the image of the tortured victim still burning hot in his brain. Another second in this room and he would be sick.

* * *

"You really saved me there," Levantia thanked the female xeno.

"No problem," she replied. "Crox has a tendency to scare the shit out of people. Nobody here shares his obsession. And his artworks stink like an Ork."

Darelyn was the sanest Dark Eldar Levantia had even known, and that was not saying much. If he were to rank, her level of lunacy would be somewhat between a Commissar with chainsword and pistol and a Lord Commissar in a Baneblade, both of whom Levantia was always glad have on his side, even if he wanted to stay away from them (especially the latter) as much as possible. For some bizarre reason, this particular Dark Eldar had become fond of him. At first, he thought it was a trick and tried to ignore her. After a while, they could be said to have something close to a relationship. Of all the xenos on board this ship, Darelyn was the most childish, apparently the result of a lifetime within Commorragh being sheltered inside a well-protected fortress surrounded by bodyguards without any fear of imminent danger and any notion of what was really going on out there.

Darelyn had tried to explain to Levantia during one of their conversations the reason why her people was so cruel. She stated as though it was them the good guys in this story. The Dark Eldar were bound to the being known as She-Who-Thirsts and had to consume the souls of others to stave off their death. However, all of this will soon change, as after centuries of research and struggle against the daemonic tide, they had come close to finding the way to lead their race to salvation. A cure would be produced, and soon, the predation of She-Who-Thirsts would be over at last. Long under the delusion of their own arrogance, the Craftworld and Exodite cousins would finally open their eyes and come to them, hailing them as saviors, begging to join, and the Dark kin would embrace them with open arms. The Eldar empire would be restored. An alliance with the Imperium of Man would be forged, now that the Eldar no longer required human souls for survival. The forces of Chaos, Orks and Great Devourers would be forever vanquished while the interstellar empires of Tau and Necron would bow before such unstoppable might. In the meantime, however, the Dark Eldar needed sustenance and, since humans were so ignorant of this fact, this coming of a magnificent event, they had no other choice to take it by force.

Oh, Darelyn, how naïve you are, Levantia thought. Such fantasy did not exist in the universe. If the extraction of the soul was the only reason why the Dark Eldar took prisoners, then half of all of this would have been necessary. The truth was they thrive on pain of others, in order to enhance their hedonistic lifestyle, whether or not She-Who-Thirsts held a clutch on them. It had been like that since before the Fall, and that would likely be the case until their whole misbegotten race went extinct.

The pirates of the Commorragh had escaped fate far too long. They had overstayed their welcome in this universe. But none can do that forever. One day, every Dark Eldar on board the Eternity of Torment would perish, the Emperor's justice finally served and his holy angels banishing the corruption from this ship forever.

But Levantia made a promise to himself. He would be the one who kill Darelyn, out of what little love he had for her. She was innocent, kind of, and he wanted her innocence to persist till the end. A quick, merciless death. Something none of her kin deserved.

"Everything's alright with you?" asked Darelyn asked as the two made their way to the deck. "You look kinda green. Is it natural for a Mon'keigh or have you caught a fever?"

"You don't need to worry about me, Mistress," said Levantia, shaking away the images in the Haemonculus chamber. "This humble one can still serve."

Darelyn gave him a whole-hearted smile. "Very good, then."

The deck of the Eternity of Torment was crowded with Dark Eldar, overseers and lesser slaves, standing in preparation for the arrival of the raiding group which they would accommodate. Levantia joined his human overseers and Darelyn walked to her lot with other Trueborns.

The Webway portal opened and sleek skimming vehicles painted in black emerged. An order came from the Dark Eldar commander to get ready.

Something was wrong. Levantia and the others realized that as soon as the battlegroup of Raiders and Venoms stepped out from the portal. They were ragged, riddled with holes, scorched and overall bearing signs of heavy damage. Some were limping laboriously, traversing left and right like a drunken man. On top of that, out of the hundred vehicles that made up the raiding party, no more than two dozen had made it back, their cargoes filled with wounded soldiers instead of slaves.

Cries of outrage were heard, coming especially from the Trueborns. Every Dark Eldar in the chamber wore a facial expression as though they had been forced to swallow a lemon. On the other hand, Levantia and the overseers felt rejuvenated somehow witnessing the defeat their hated masters, even if that would not do them any good. Of the lower class slaves, they seemed unaffected, either because experience had taught them to be more pragmatist or the tortures they endured had rendered any positive emotion impossible.

The vehicles came to a halt and the crew disembarked. Out of the lead Raider came Archon Feharuln Snaketongue flanked by a retinue of Incubi, the corrupted version of Eldar Aspect Warriors that had taken the role of bodyguards for the nobles of the Commorragh. Though his face was hidden behind the mask, his heavy, rapid footsteps spoke of unquenchable anger.

"We welcome you back like the stars welcome the moon, my lord," one of the Dark Eldar Trueborns said, bowing in front of the Archon. "Thanks the Father it seems you are unharmed. We were so worried about…"

The poor bastard did not even finish his flatter as his master swiped off his head with a dagger. As the decapitated body hit the floor, everyone in the chamber, Dark Eldar and overseers alike, watched in wordless shock. A tiny screech came from the xenos group. Levantia's heart throbbed as he realized it belonged to Darelyn. Apparently, she had remained utterly ignorant of Feharuln savage and ruthless, yet astonishingly fair, nature until now. Levantia still remembered the fit he threw when one prisoner somehow escaped before the raiding party entered the Webway. Back then, the Archon had a hundred other prisoners and ten more Dark Eldar flayed alive in front of everybody else, giving them both a lesson as to what kind of prompt, indiscriminate chastisement would take place when his will went undone.

Unperturbed, the enraged Archon and his men stormed out of the chamber, leaving the rest to perform their maintenance duty.

* * *

Back in the cell, the discussion about the recent was lively. Returning from a long, hard day of work, all the overseers bore a satisfying grin on their face. If there was any reward truly worth their labor and humiliation, that was the independence they enjoyed. No form of supervision existed in this chamber, or at least that was what the Dark Eldar promised. In here, everyone could afford to be themselves without fear of punishment. The problem was, nobody was themselves anymore. The whole experience was taking its toll and they had become altogether negligent of what kind of heresy they were committing and what fate their fellow humans at the lower deck were suffering while they still gloated.

"Fuckers got what they deserve," Bruno whooped. "I say, that is how the Emperor's justice is served."

"Hold your horses, Bruno," said Sveltanar. "There are still enough of them here to make any break out attempt unfeasible. And I am sure they can get reinforcement to compensate for that."

"I don't care if I am going to die here," countered Bruno. "You saw those bastards react when…that happened, Throne be praised, that was priceless."

"What are they going to do to us now?" asked Corinna, his voice trembling with fear. They did not call him Corinna the Pessimist for nothing. "They are not going to take it on us, are they?"

"Not likely," said Levantia. Though what he saw at the Haemonculus place still haunted him, it made up for but a small fraction of his mind, the rest dedicated to the celebration of the revenge by proxy that had just occurred. "Now that they are thinner, we are more valuable. At least until they get fresh troops, they will have to show us respect."

"They have already extended their respect far enough," said Sveltanar skeptically. "I doubt they will…"

The door to the cell opened and a figure was tossed inside just before it shut once more. All the eyes in the room were drawn to it. The overseers circled around the being that had just been dumped into the cell. Under the faint light, Levantia could make out it was human, a young female with slender body and white clothes. She did not seem to be moving, though her heavy breathing was evident.

"What the heck?" asked Corinna.

"Fresh meat?" asked Relius.

"Does not look like an overseer to me," said Bruno. No woman had ever made it into the rank, for obvious reasons other than them being physically inferior. "Is this some sort of trick? Are they playing with us, putting a woman in here?"

"Whatever it is, we need to investigate," said Sveltanar cautiously. "I am sure there has to be a rational cause for this. Who will volunteer?"

"I will do it," said Levantia. His time spent with Darelyn had made him aware of certain tricks the Dark Eldar were fond of pulling with their victims. If anything, at least a couple of red flags should be raised about the awkwardness of the situation. Though he was far from ready, Levantia doubted the others were any closer.

"Be careful," said Sveltanar.

Levantia approached the woman and bent down to examine. Her body twitched slightly on the touch. The cloth that covered her body was formfitting and made from a material that was smoother than any silk or fabric Levantia had ever seen in his life. Strange symbols adorned the suit, bearing a strange resemblance to the icons employed by the Dark Eldar as well as those the overseers had taken up without any understanding of their meaning, but they seemed much gentler and lacked any malicious undertone. The only exposed parts were her head and her feet. Her face was hidden behind a cascade of golden hair, but looking at her bare feet, Levantia could see the woman was unnaturally pale.

As he cleared out the wisps of hair that fell upon her face, Levantia noticed a disproportionately large ear that took on the shape of a dagger. As a matter of fact, all her facial features seemed too pointy and lean than any normal being. Though the differences were subtle, they were more than obvious to the naked eyes. With a rude awakening, Levantia realized this woman was belonged to the same species that enslaved him.

"What is it," asked Sveltanar. "Anything wrong?"

"She is…," Levantia stammered. "She is an Eldar."

The news sent a shockwave across the room. It was not uncommon for a Dark Eldar to be dropped into a slave chamber. Most of them ended up in the lower part of the deck where slaves tortured to the point of hysteria tore them apart viciously as soon as they were thrown inside. The upper one was for those who could redeem or prove useful only.

"I told you they were going to kill us all," cried Corinna. "They sent this bitch in here and now she is going to slit our throats when we sleep."

"There is one of her and twenty four of us," Relius assuaged. "If she does anything fishy, we can take her on."

As the other overseers discussed on what to do, Levantia continued to remove hair locks from the woman's face. She was lovely, not in the same way as Darelyn, but possessing different attractive traits. It was such a shame that the only beautiful women Levantia met in his life were filthy xenos, bane of mankind and enemies of the Imperium. But there was something more to it. Looking closer, he realized she had none of the deeper, more implicit characteristics of the pirates he served. Her body was tender and frail where they were brutishly lithe, her skin white but not unhealthily so like the Dark Eldar, her fingers and toes evenly shaped and not elongated in twisted fashion. Levantia came to the conclusion this woman might not be a Dark Eldar, she was…

"Craftworld," he spoke out. "I think she is from the Craftworld. Which one I cannot say."

"Does it really matter?" asked Bruno. Like Levantia, he was former Guard, from the Garalian 4th, a regiment renowned for its hatred against all sentient alien life forms. "Xenos all the same. I say we beat her up and hang whatever remains of her body on the wall, so that when the Dark Eldar see it, they will know what fate awaits those who mess with us." Some of the overseers expressed their approval, much to Levantia chagrin.

"Or how about you let me handle this," said Levantia vehemently. Despite all the indoctrination and training, despite years of combating the aliens and first-hand witness of her kin's unforgivable depravity, Levantia could not help but feel sorry for this woman. He sympathized with all slaves on board this ship, no matter where they came from, even if expressing it would mean a death sentence.

"What gives you the authority?" asked Bruno contemptuously.

"Nothing," said Levantia. "But you will all have to kill me and displease our masters before you lay a single hand on her. This is not who we are, murderers and rapists."

There were mutters amongst the other overseers. Levantia did not expect all of them to understand him, but he would stick to his gun no matter what.

"Fine then," Bruno conceded. "Since have already stooped this low, how worse can it possibly get? But if she ever creeps up to try and murder me in my sleep, know that one of my eyes is always open."

"You can shut both of your eyes and your mouth and sleep peacefully," Levantia assured him. "I will take care of her."

As the crowd dispersed, Levantia turned to look at the Eldar woman. Her face was like an angel when she slept, even if that comparison was heretical in the extreme. Her gloved hands were clasped together beneath of her chin as though praying. Her exposed feet rubbed against one another and the toes curled, probably from the cold. The woman seemed to have already experience so much pain, even if that was a drop in the ocean compared to the human he saw in the Haemonculus torture rack. Her clothes were shredded at several places and the flesh underneath them mercilessly cut. A few of the cuts were opened further with the help of some tools, intensifying the agony even more.

"Hey, wake up," said Levantia as he shook her shoulder lightly. He was not sure if doing so was the best idea, but it was worth a try.

Slowly, the Eldar's eyes opened, gazing at Levantia inquisitively, her amber looking straight at his emerald. The rest of her body remained still, too painful to even budge. As their eyes met, Levantia could see no malicious intent, no sadistic desire, no hunger for violent. Instead, he felt he was captivated by those two golden orbs, more than any piece of Crox's artworks. Within them, there was a mixture of fear and uncertainty. She had the look of someone who had once had hope, but chosen to abandon it altogether, unlike the overseers who simply hid it away for the time being.

"Do you understand what I am saying?" he asked, trying to get her attention.

The pause seemed to last forever.

"Idiot."

That was the first and only word she spoke to him. The voice was tender and carried a melodic tone. It was as sweet as honey, but as bitter as gall at the same time. There was sadness in it, mixed with annoyance. And contempt, too. A great deal of contempt.

The Eldar woman turned around with considerable effort, withdrawing from Levantia's stare. In doing so, some of her wounds reopened and blood began to gush out. Letting out a slight moan in pain, she cuddled her knees like a pillow and sewed her eyes shut. Levantia could see droplets of tears dripping from them, despite her effort to resist them.

Her body was hurt, but her pride was probably even more. Levantia knew the Eldar took such thing with great seriousness and cursed himself for being the ignorant one around here. She obviously wanted nothing to do with him.

He had tried to get her attention. And he had failed. His attempt to make contact with the Eldar of the Craftworld kind had actually made the situation worse for her. He would not repeat that any time soon.

Am I really an idiot? Levantia asked himself. His Dark Eldar masters referred him with many derisive words and phrases in Low Gothic, and probably even more in their tongue.

_But an idiot?_

_Really?_

* * *

_**Author's note:**__**I always enjoy Eldar and human romance, so here is my take on it. The human character feels like a bit Gary Stu-ish, but bear with me on that one. I want to have the human character playing a big role in the overall plot about the great struggle and not just there for the romance. Don't worry, he is not going to win that fist fight against a Bloodthirster any time soon.**_

_**I really hate the way the Eldar can bring Dark Eldar as Battle Brothers but I cannot put Tau next to Imperial Guards who are CLEARLY in a better relationship without them watching out for each other's betrayal. The Dark Eldar exploit their kin in every way possible, and the Eldar wished nothing more than to get rid of the Dark Eldar as soon as the common enemy is vanquished.**_

_**The way the Dark Eldar are portrayed are so one-dimensional in a lot of cases. They want power and slaves because they are evil and sadists, that's it. OK, they still follow the same stereotype, but with some newer flairs into it. This story takes on a new approach on them, with some inspiration from slavery system in America.**_


	2. Chapter 2: True colors

The next day started normally. As soon as the klaxons rang and the door opened, the overseers were standing in position, all dressed up in makeshift uniform provided by their masters and ready to work. A Dark Eldar slaver with a whip went into the cell and led them out rather before assigning them to different tasks. So that their captives would feel alienated and helpless at the place of work, the xenos usually placed them separately from each other and constantly changed their tasks. As a result, the overseers were always confused and timid when placed outside their cell, never thinking of anything other than the exact words of their masters and never raising hope higher than how to satisfy them. It was obvious that good labour was not really what they were asking for, but dogs who would bark and bite at their every command. Even though the need for workers was still there, the only required quality was absolute loyalty.

After a while, everybody just got to move on with it. And all in all, it was not too bad, if one continually reminded himself what the alternative might have been. This was their life now.

Levantia spared a glance at the Eldar woman still in the cell. She was sitting against the wall while staring at the overseers move out. Her amber eyes were bloodshot. He almost felt sorry for her. She did not have a good sleep last night, always kept mumbling out loud in a language he could not comprehend. Such rudeness did not go well with other overseers who knew they had to wake up early the next morning and Levantia patted the Eldar on the shoulder, asking her to stop and calm down. Without even looking at him, or regarding him in any way, she sheepishly did as he told her, much to his relief. Knowing how arrogant and self-centered the Eldar race, both Craftworld and Commorite, was, Levantia was ready for a long sleepless night.

But even then, she was still shuddering the whole time. She was barefooted and the cell so cold he could hang meat, but Levantia knew it was more than that. Something inside her was definitely not alright, gnawing at her heart like a rodent, and as much as he wished to find out, he decided to leave her alone after the failed attempt. For the very least, her wounds had gotten much better and where bleeding had been once intensified, it stopped. Within one night, that was almost a miracle. Levantia suspected the Eldar were biologically more regenerative and resilient than humans, with and without the use of drugs and modification from the Haemonculi.

The Eldar woman was the only one left in the cell. This made some of the overseers feel uneasy at the fear of their status and privilege being compromised. Levantia did not think there was any need to worry. It was not likely the woman was put in the same cell as them just because she had pointy ears like their masters. Many Dark Eldar fell out of favor and ended up in the lower deck where they were torn apart by the degraded humans dwelling there. If there was one thing that applied to both xenos and humans on this ship, that was the need to separate the wheat from the chaff and the workers from the drones. No one on this ship, humans or Eldar, was exempted from what had become the natural selection.

"She is in our private space when we are gone," somebody protested. Levantia did not need to look at to know it was Bruno. Out of all the overseers, only he had the gut to speak that out loud in front of the Dark Eldar without fear of severe castigation. "That is not part of our agreement."

"You need not worry, Mon'keigh, she is not the curious type," the alien Sybarite sneered. "Besides, no one with one-third a brain would be the least interested in what it means to live the life of a lowly Mon'keigh."

"Is this some sort of a joke?" Bruno retorted, his face reddening with rage. "Just because we do your bidding does not mean we are hormonal apes."

"Of course, you are not hormonal apes," the xeno chuckled. "That would be an insult of the highest degree. To the hormonal apes, that is."

"But…"

"No buts," said the Dark Eldar Sybarite addressed sternly. Two Kabalite Warriors moved forward to push Bruno back in line. "We are all here for a reason, to lay down strength and knowledge in service to our Archon and the Kabal. You should be thankful that you are still alive and healthy because his mercy is a hundred times greater than that corpse your worship as a god who would see you dead the moment he sees fit." His eyes stared at the Eldar woman alone in the cell, who quickly looked away in disgust. "If the Archon wants her around, then there has to be a reason for that. Enough with the complaints and get back to work."

* * *

For many years, the Kabal of the Shadow Talon had roamed the galaxy unopposed. Under the visionary leadership of Archon Feharuln Snaketongue, they had ransacked one world after another, filling their cargoes with constant streams of slaves while outwitting retaliating armies in every turn, seducing them into chasing their own shadow while the Dark Eldar made their escape. Many had tried to dethrone them, none succeeding, be they Ork Warbosses, Space Marines Chapter Masters, Tau Shas'o, Chaos Daemon Lords or even other Archons who were jealous of their rival's unprecedented success. It was like everything in their opposition's minds was laid out on the table for the Dark Eldar to read.

Nothing had ever laid them low. Nothing came even close to pose a threat to them.

Until yesterday.

_ So fast, no one could see it._

_ The wind of change had come. And it made it message clear_

_It was here to stay._

With more than half the Kabal gone after that disastrous raid the day before, the rest was left with double the amount of work to finish, including the medical treatment of the dozen wounded in the same incident. Worst still, news of the Space Marines of the Iron Knights Chapters hot on their trail were spoken throughout the ship, putting everyone on a knife-edge; even the overseers were not fond of meeting face to face with the Adeptus Astartes after what kind of betrayal they had committed. As a result, all resources had to be spent on getting the Eternity of Torment out of the sector and into the nearest Webway portal where it would be safe, given the inability of the Imperium to utilize it. That meant twice as many shifts, no breaks, the cancelling of all Sybarite competition and the incorporation of a number of slaves from the lower decks into the workforce, performing simple and grueling works.

The entire ship shook violently as it entered the Webway, now free from its vengeful pursuer and finally able to take a reprieve. Levantia let out a sigh of relief. After two days of non-stop, back-breaking work, this was the fruit he was hoping for. Shutting down one of the secondary engines which were close to overheating, he made his way to his next post.

Apart from the ever-present display of what the Dark Eldar defined as "fine arts", the hallway was awkwardly quiet, much like the day before. The last raid had reduced the occupants aboard this ship significantly.

"Carry me," came a voice behind him.

Startled, Levantia turned back to see Darelyn hobbling towards him. She was exhausted, covered in grime and had dark bags under her blinking eyes. Levantia had gotten used to the lack of sleep that his body was not showing much.

"Mistress…," Levantia began. The woman fell to his arms, rather purposefully so, and he caught her, dragging her up. Her body was frail, not used to heavy labor. Darelyn told him how she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and only joined the Kabal because her father who was a good friend of the Archon desperately convinced her. "This humble one does not think…"

"Cut the crap," she demanded. "Just speak normally with me like you do so with your fellow Mon'keigh. No need for formality."

"What are you doing? We both have got work to do. I need to get to…"

"Silly Mon'keigh," Darelyn said dreamily. "Work, work, work. Is that all your race could ever think of? No wonder why you are so stiff all the time."

If the Dark Eldar had not put him in this hell, then he would have much more in mind other than work, thought Levantia. This slavery was not his choice to begin with. He told himself to restrain his anger in front of the lady, much less someone with the authority to deliver swift punishment to him any moment, and found it amusingly easy. In truth, no matter what idiotic questions Darelyn asked him, he could never feel upset or enraged. On the contrary, Levantia found her the best person to talk to all across this ship, even more so than his fellow humans. Darelyn was a rare gem in this dark place, always full of hot air. She reminded him that not all was lost and there was a reason he should live on: to end her life while she was still pure and innocent.

"Why do you seem so unconcerned?" asked Levantia, trying to be calm. "Everyone here has a duty to fulfill, the Archon said…"

"The Archon said this, the Archon said that," Darelyn retorted, smuggling her face into his chest. "You never heard a word he said in person, did you? Everything that ever came to your ears came from the mouth of his lieutenants. Have you ever thought they just pulled it out of their ass to make you do what they want you to do?"

That was irrelevant, Levantia thought as he resisted slapping him in the forehead. It was not like he could refuse even if a Dark Eldar of the lowest class asked him to wipe the toilet with his tongue.

"If I don't get to my post in time, they will whip the hell out of me," Levantia persisted.

"Then take me with you. I can give them some _persuasion_. They will listen, I am sure of it."

"But what about your assignment?"

Darelyn grinned sinisterly at him. "If I refuse, what can they do about it? Beat me to a blood clump? Feed me to the Mandrakes? Throw me in the lower deck where the degenerates dwell? I am a noble, a Trueborn. Anyone below me I can see them as insects for whatever they are worth. Let's see them try to lay a finger on me."

Levantia was desperate. He was sweating like a pig in the Dark Eldar's embrace. If he did not separate from her right now before somebody saw, his survival would be on the line. The Dark Eldar would skin him alive for flirting with one of their nobles and his fellow comrades would devour the rest of his flesh for committing _extra_ heresy, and they had come so close to breaking the record for the longest cannibalism-free period.

"Please, Mon'keigh," continued Darelyn, her voice softer as was her grip. To his surprise, Levantia could find sadness in it, something he thought the Dark Eldar were incapable of feeling. "Don't leave me like this. Both my best mate and my second-best mate have befriended with She-Who-Thirsts after the last raid. I am a moon on the starless sky now."

"I am sorry for that," Levantia replied, not sure if he was lying. On one hand he was satisfied with the suffering now inflicted upon his captor. One the other, he found himself uncharacteristically sympathetic to this seemingly helpless creature.

"You don't need to," Darelyn said. "Just stay with me a bit longer."

"Please, my Mistress," begged Levantia. "Have somebody else comfort you. I have had my hands full right now."

"No," Darelyn insisted. "Nobody else. They don't me the way you do. You are the only one who ever says anything nice to me, the only one I can always rely on when I need someone to have a conversation with, no matter how trivial and banal."

"That sounds like you are giving me too much credit."

"By the Great Father," Darelyn blurted. "A Mon'keigh you might be. I don't care how filthy or stupid or savage your race is. You are more than anyone else I have known my entire life."

Levantia's mind was screaming frantically to get away from her and go back to work, but he suppressed that. Instead, he opened his arms and hugged her in return, tugging her face deeper to his chest, even if that looked rather awkward considering she was taller than he was. For a cold-blooded killer, she was warm to embrace.

No, he was not comforting a cold-blooded killer, Levantia righted himself. This was a woman, lovely and strong, yet vulnerable at times, like any other.

After Emperor knew how long, they finally let go. Darelyn let out a fainted smile and left to whatever duty she was given. If anyone found out they had spent a moment of laxity together at a time where everyone else was snowed under, then there would be serious consequences. Luckily, the corridor was empty, most of the ship's occupants too busy in their own post to wander around. With a deep sigh, Levantia headed back to work.

* * *

It was the longest labour day ever. By the time they were let off, the overseers were thoroughly exhausted, dropping on the floor like fallen statues and panting heavily. Most of the Dark Eldar probably felt the same. For the first time, their bodies had to be exerted to perform the amount of work normally designed to be completed by twice their number, plus all the medical treatment, plus running away from the Space Marines, plus redistributing items and reorganizing groups, all of these with much greater urgency than ever before.

"What happened to you?" asked Corinna, gazing at a blood-soaked Sveltanar in shock. "Please tell me you are not going to die from that."

"Not my blood," the older man assured. "I was with working as assistance at the medical bay. Their Haemonculus is one crazy son of a bitch. He hacked off arms and legs, even those that are fine and healthy, and replaced them with new ones. Said they fit more. One of them, the patients, voiced his disapproval, and the Haemonculus had his head replaced too. The whole place became a freak show."

Levantia felt a shiver running down his spine, reliving the baleful moments with the Haemonculus a few days ago and remembering what Darelyn said about Crox's bizarre nature being alarming even for his deranged kinsmen. Fortunately, since the Haemonculus was too busy treating the wounded, Levantia was spared from having to make critiques on his _artworks_, at least for the time being.

"Damn," blurted Relius. "For once, I am glad they leave to bleed to death if we are injured. I am not letting those xenos operating on me like I am some sort of guinea pigs, not as long as I am alive, of course."

"Carlos, you turned up late for pipe maintenance," said Dividus. He had refrained from bringing up the issue earlier when the Dark Eldar were around. Levantia was glad he did not get the penalty. So tired they were that the xenos had neither the will nor strength to punish Levantia. In the end, they angrily shoved the tools to his arms and left to take some rest now that their final task was done. "What's wrong? You seem like a person who follows his principle, one of which is tardiness."

"It was nothing," Levantia brushed off, trying to sound as casual as possible. His affair with Darelyn was a secret he would drag to the grave with him. Besides, if even his most valued principle, to serve the Emperor and smite His foe, was largely forgotten at this point, all others would merely appease his conscience more than anything. "My previous job took longer than I expected, that's all."

"Does not sound like it," Dividus pried. "And why is your face red? What did they do to you?"

Damn this body, Levantia cursed silently, always reacting when he hated most. Levantia was struggling for an answer when the door to the cell opened and a trolley was pushed in by two human overseers.

"Food, at last," said Relius, filled with joy and relief. At once, all humans in the room jolted up as if electrified and converged around the food trolley.

"Line up and no pushing," said Sveltanar. "There are a lot of people in here as hungry as you are. There is no reason to slander against hormonal apes just because you cannot wait a further five minutes after you have endured more than three days."

The overseers did as instructed. No one had ever doubted or questioned him. Physically fit despite his age, the old man was a former Administratum, wiser and more informative than anybody else. He was also unquestionable submissive to his enslavers. The Dark Eldar brought him in to maintain discipline and productivity. He did a wonderful job out of that.

_Heretical, but wonderful in equal measure._

Despite their empty stomach, the overseers formed an orderly line as food was distributed. The ration today which consisted mostly of molded bread, stale cheese, half-rotten fruit, brackish water (or liquid akin to water) and potatoes filled with termites was twice as much as normal. Whether the drop in the number of inhabitants on this ship or the harsh labour they had to undergo caused the Dark Eldar to show such leniency, the overseers could not be bothered. They were happy they stood a chance at breaking the record for the longest period surviving without devouring one another. It was in social moments like this that misery was alleviated and the humans forgot all about their sorry state.

As people headed back to their claimed place and eat, Levantia noticed the Eldar woman. She was in the corner, clutching her legs and looking at the humans with blank yellow eyes. The others chose to ignore her as much as she ignored the fact there was now some food after so long.

Taking a deep breath, Levantia walked to her and offered his bread. "Here, you can have some."

"Stop playing with your food," Sveltanar barked. "Is not respectful to the people who have to go around starving, as in everyone in the bottom deck."

"I am not playing around," assured Levantia. His eyes gazed at Sveltanar and after a moment, the old man replied with a soft nod, finally understanding.

"What is wrong with you?" cried Bruno. "Look at her. She is a lazy sloth. Where was her when we worked our ass off? She does not deserve to be here. She does not deserve our food. She deserves a good beating."

"It's my share of the ration," said Levantia sternly. "My freedom to choose what I work, where I live and how I should speak has been taken away. At least, allow me the right to do whatever I want with my food."

"I would rather flush it down the toilet than giving to her," Bruno hissed. He took a large bite from his bread and looked away, irritated. As much as Levantia was sympathetic to his fellow kinsmen, no living sentient being, human or xeno, should suffer to cruelty and malnutrition. This woman here was as much as a victim as anyone else.

Turning back to the Eldar, Levantia held out his bread again, "Come on. Take it."

There was no response. The Eldar did not even look directly at him.

Levantia tried harder and pressed the food into her hand. To his surprise, she dropped it as if she was just given an old stinking sock. Apparently, what little left of her pride was to be preserved at whatever cost. This almost drove Levantia mad. He wanted to strike at her. This woman had none of the good quality Darelyn possessed and was definitely more annoying than any Dark Eldar he knew. At least the Dark Eldar had the authority and with it, the right to be arrogant; this woman here was on the same level as he was, as degraded slaves, no matter what she may assume.

Cruel sadistic murderers? He could live with that, for a while.

Shitless assholes who thought themselves the only thing in the galaxy? Absolutely not.

"Is this what all Eldar from the Craftworlds are like?" asked Levantia derisively. "At least the Commorite are kindly straightforward to us." Perhaps Darelyn was right after all: the Commorragh kin were more fitting to be the one to take over the Eldar Empire if it were restored. "You know what, I think the real Eldar I this universe are them, no matter how dark they are. You and your race are nothing more than sorry history."

"I will not have you insult my people, human," said the Eldar woman. Her amber eyes gazed at him like a lioness about to go for his throat. Her injuries were all but gone now, even the ones that were cracked open by force, and her body flushed with health. "You think your infant, presumptuous species is greater than ours? We keep it to ourselves while your stain spreads across the galaxy like cancer. Everywhere you go, you leave nothing but grieve and death."

"I don't think my race is superior," said Levantia, glad that she finally spoke. "But I do not believe yours is any better either."

The Eldar let out a sniff in contempt as Levantia picked up the bread on the floor and held it out to her.

"I have no interest in having such foul thing in my mouth, or anywhere near me," the Eldar said haughtily. While most of the Dark Eldar's voices were rasping and hoarse to varying extents, hers carried an angelic melody, as if they were two sides of the same coin. The words were not spoken, but sung and whistled instead. The tone was effortlessly high.

"Aren't you hungry?" asked Levantia. The Dark Eldar consumed as much as any human, so he assumed she must be the same. But then again, the lifestyles of the two factions differed greatly and on the Craftworlds, people might not eat so much.

"That is none of your concern, human," the Eldar said. Abruptly, a noise came from her belly, startling them both. The woman's face blushed crimson red, which Levantia found amusing how the Eldar's body would react to this kind of embarrassing situation the same way humans' did.

"Bet your stomach does not agree with that," Levantia grinned.

The Eldar shrank back, but she was already at a corner with nowhere to go. So she turned her body and covered her face with an elbow instead. If Darelyn was assertive and brave, this woman was the complete opposite of that.

"Come on, don't be coy," Levantia encouraged. "We all have our less-than-refined moments in our life. But we should not allow them to get the better of us, or you will end up a cranky prune like Bruno over there."

"Hey! I heard that!" the big man shouted. Levantia ignored him and leaned closer to her.

The Eldar was now in the same situation he was with Darelyn just a few hours earlier.

_ Alone. Lost. Surrounded by strangers with malicious intents. _

_ Approached by one of them._

_ But not really what they thought was stereotypically one of them._

Her primal defense mechanism triggered, the Eldar raised one foot to halt his encroachment in its track. She was desperate to keep him away, even though she tried her best to look as composed as possible. Her bare sole pressed into his cheek. It was dirty and cold after being exposed for so long, but the skin remained smooth without any trace of callousness. The Eldar was obviously afraid and Levantia could feel her tender toes trembling on his face.

"Stay back, I am warning you," she said. "I swear by the blood of Khaine I will rip your heart out."

Getting his heart ripped out by this woman did not sound too bad, considering the plethora of more morbid way to perish at the hand of the Dark Eldar.

"Fine." Levantia stepped back. He placed the bread right in front of her. "If you don't want me to see you eating, that is fine by me."

"Stop this," the Eldar demanded. "Your sham pity disgusts me. You are trying to manipulate me aren't you? That is all you humans are always up to. You like seeing me helpless and vulnerable like this, but you want more. I am not falling for this juvenile trick you are pulling."

"There is no trick," Levantia asserted. "You are as much a victim as the rest of us here. The Emperor is with us no more, for we are traitors and heretics who consort with the xenos that plague the very Imperium we swore to serve." His words felt heavy. Out of shame, he had never expressed this to anyone before. In fact, while it was common knowledge that the Imperium was, for all intents and purposes, the enemy now, none of the overseers every put that into a discussion. "We have no choice but to look after one another."

"How do I trust you?" The Eldar seemed incredulous, and she should be given the alien environment she was in.

"I can give you no proof," replied Levantia. "Nothing I say or do now can convince you. But you will get used to it. You will see being amongst a bunch of humans isn't so bad after all. Except Bruno, of course."

"Asshole!" Bruno cried from the other side of the chamber, but stayed where he was, food finished and arms crossed.

Pretending her did not hear that, Levantia went on, "Really, no reason to be afraid. So just have your food and don't worry too much."

The woman stared at him as if searching for any sign of dishonesty, any reason to justify her prejudice.

After a few seconds that seemed to last an hour, the Eldar said, "That disgusts me even more."

Levantia felt his blood boiling. He had remained calm up to this point, but if this woman wished to persistently be a bitch despite all his effort, then he had nothing left to say. It was a mistake all along to try and be friendly with a creature that could not look past its pride. If she wanted to starve and die lonely in this place, he would intervene no further.

_Pointless._

_ Pathetic._

_ Idiot. Idiot. Idiot._

"Because I don't deserve any of this kindness," the Eldar continued. All of a sudden, all the rage dissipated from Levantia's mind. As he looked at her, he saw tears swelling in her eyes. "Please, go away. The grace of Isha from you is not what I am entitled to receive. Save it for your kin."

Levantia seized her arms suddenly, causing the Eldar woman to yelp. He looked at her, his sapphire meeting her amber. He saw fear, uncertainty, disgracefulness. "Is this because you have pointy ears and large eyes and don't look like one of us? Not going to matter anymore. Precipitous hatred against something alien without knowing its true nature is irrational and is not what constitutes a human being."

"And what if you do know its true nature?" asked the Eldar. "And what you find is what you truly hate."

Levantia was taken aback. "Wh-what do you mean?"

Inhaling deeply, the Eldar responded, "I am the cause of all of this. Your homes burn to ashes, your friends and families slain mercilessly, your freedom stripped. Everything you love and appreciate taken away from you in front of your very eyes, and all you could do is watch, helpless.

"We all have a share of responsibility…" Levantia began. So she cooperated with the Dark Eldar. Not a big deal, not at all. There was not an overseer here who had not sworn service to the denizens of the Commorragh and performed duties that would facilitate crimes perpetrated against the Imperium of Man. Though some still hoped one day their grace to the Golden Throne would be restored, most knew it was already too late.

"Have you ever wondered why Archon Snaketongue has enjoyed so much success?" the Eldar pressed. "Have you ever wondered why every single raid until now has been with flying colors, every single engagement won effortlessly, every single opposition crushed before they could draw their blades?"

Levantia was stunned at what she was saying. The thought of her having anything to do with that sent a dagger to his soul.

"Carlos Levantia of the 7th Drachanian Regiment," she said. Her hand reached for her robe and pulled out a triangle-shaped item with the inscription of a stylized eye etched at the middle. "You trod the path of knowledge before the call of Khaine is upon you. Tell me, what do you see?"

Levantia was at a loss of word. His mind was racing, his heart throbbing like never before. He never told her name, let alone the regiment he was attached to. After that fateful day when the Drachanian was all but wiped out, he had tried to forget what had caused that, blaming himself and his comrades for weaknesses. But now it was clear as daylight. Now he knew the truth. The defeat of his regiment was not because of superior tactical skills nor advanced technologies nor higher numbers.

It was because of sorcery. Foul, despicable sorcery.

The Kabal of the Shadow Talon literally had their opposition's mind laid out on a table after all.

Because the item she showed was the Rune of the Farseers.

Everything he did, every heretical action he committed, they were nothing but cogs in the machine. This woman right here, she was the lynchpin. She had used her gift of prescience to guide the Dark Eldar into one victory after another. Every crime committed by the Kabal of the Shadow Talon could be attributed to her doings. The latest debacle and her presence at this place could not have been a coincidence. No wonder why they did not feed her to the slaves of the bottom deck. She was probably still useful to them.

Wordlessly, Levantia stepped away from her. He neither felt hostility nor sympathy for her at this point. All he had left was a void, empty sensation.

_Nothing left._

_Nothing._

_No._

After eating, he went to sleep. He needed some rest before the Dark Eldar forced him back to work. Catching a glance at the Eldar woman, he saw she was cowering at the corner, weeping silently, her bread untouched.

Something told him she was not going to have a good night today.

* * *

_**Author's note: It has been a while since I wrote something. I had exams. Now that exams are over, I can spend more time writing. I really need to get back to the poll soon. One story is finished, so if anyone out there who has chosen the Knight fighting Tau with unseen aid, know that it has already been done.**_

_**For some reason, some of my reviewers mention that the main character's name sounds too much like a girl. I have no idea why. Levantia is his family name, the part that is passed down from generation to generation. His given name is Carlos, which should be manly enough.**_

_**Anyway, it's not usual for me to write a story with a slow pace, as in a story with multiple chapters of character development and no action. So I apologize if some of this sound a bit awkward to any of you.**_

_**In this story, I want the human character to play a larger role as the protective macho man, which is not what you see often these days after Suffer not the Xenos to Live has been cancelled. I feel like a lot of Eldar x human romance nowadays portrays one of the two, mostly the human character, as being a bit underwhelming. **_


	3. Chapter 3: Trade off

Levantia could barely sleep during the night. The image of the Eldar woman, reduced to a sobbing wreck, unable to bring herself to receiving aid from him whom she persisted having wronged, continued to haunt him. She looked like a bushel of wheat harvested but then forgotten in the storage and left to rot or be eaten by rats and insects. Her golden hair was messy and cascaded over her entire face like a waterfall, leaving the pointy ears poking out. Her body was as cold and silent as a gravestone but for the slight, occasional, seemingly uncontrollable twitching and trembling. Every now and then, he would spare a glance at her, only to have his morbid curiosity rewarded with a blank expression filled with grief and self-hatred, sending needles to his heart each time.

She was the enemy, he reminded himself. But in this dark place, did the boundary between friends and enemy even matter anymore? Only survival mattered, and the retention of sanity.

She was the cause of all of this, a part of his mind persisted, even though another, more radical, told him she had no alternatives to her actions. Having already turned his back on the Imperium he once pledge his allegiance to, he had as much right to criticize her decision as any person who spat next to the Golden Throne. The Farseer might be the cause of his being here, but the cause of her being here helping the Dark Eldar with the power of divination only to get thrown into the cell following a failed raid remained a mystery he had yet to found an answer to.

The sight of her was almost unbearable.

Something. He needed something to alleviate this pain, to make his conscience feel better, to justify his turning a blind eye to her plight. Must he remind himself any attempt to help her only made matters worse and that he should simply let the grass grow under his feet? Must he kick himself in the gut (or have Bruno do it) to remember the countless humans living in conditions much more deplorable conditions than this Eldar woman right here?

Levantia felt emptiness gnawing at his heart. What was he to make a change? A man with no fire could not warm others. If he could not comfort himself, how could he possibly do it to her? Not being able to conform to his own ideologies, how was he supposed to convince her that he could somehow make things better?

The worst part about this was the fact it was not always the case for him. Not so very long ago, in another life, a much more naïve, yet passionate, Levantia would have thought differently.

_Everything will get better. All you need to do is believe in it._

Levantia's mind traced back the words that first inspired him two decades ago, spoken by the person he had been worshipping with fervor as though he were a second Emperor ever since _that_ day where his life changed forever, _that_ day where he met the hero in white. Like a shooting star, he cut through the darkest of night, saving those in need and rekindling hope where it was lost. More than the mythical tales of Ibram Gaunt and Marneus Calgar, people Levantia never got to see outside textbooks and inscription, the hero in white armor was a real, living being, coming to the rescue at the direst hour and striking down the villains before vanishing into legends whence he came.

Levantia wanted to believe. He desperately wanted to see his most cherished ideology was true, that he had not spent twenty years dreaming of something up in the air and out of reach. But who was he fooling anymore but himself? Nothing was going to get better, not in this foul place, not when they had gone too far with no way back, not when even the most basic of foundations of a human being could not be met. No matter how much faith he or any person on this ship had, it was all futile.

And they just had to accept it, whether they liked it or not.

Levantia cursed himself for indulging in his fantasy for so long. But more than that, he cursed the white hero. He spat upon the name of the idol he once worshipped. He hated him for giving him too much false hope, too much vain optimism, only so that his anguish in the end could be so bitter.

Hope, what a beautiful word that was. But the downside to it was that such thing DID NOT exist.

_Never._

_Never._

_Never._

Hope was merely a leverage to intensify disappointment when it inevitably came.

The next started early. A wave of chill ran through the room, waking every overseer up, shuddering in the cold. Not that the ship was anywhere warm and cozy, but the temperature had remained within tolerable parameter so far; this morning it almost seemed as though the Eternity of Torment had just landed on Fenris.

Under instructions from Sveltanar, the overseers stayed close to, even embracing, one another. Twenty six men huddling together was neither comfortable nor mentally encouraging, but at least it did a good job preserving their body heat and preventing them from turning into frozen meat. The Eldar woman was, of course, on her own.

The klaxon rang and the Dark Eldar opened the cell, leading them out. The Sybarite said something about malfunction in the central power system which caused the ship to exit from the Warp and its shutting down many secondary functions, heating at most places included in order to conserve energy. He also made it clear as crystal that at least two idiots responsible for making sure that did not happen was dumped into the lower deck amongst the degenerate human slaves where his fate was not a pretty one. The unusual gory details aside, the Sybarite, and probably his henchmen as well, was plainly as frustrated about this development as any overseer.

Thankfully, the xenos were apparently aware the situation demanded for efficient labor and not freezing-to-death ones, so they distributed each and every overseer a winter costume, probably stolen from their luckless victim; some of the coats ever bore marks of knife stab and blood of erstwhile wearers. Much like the case with food, Sveltanar exerted his authority to make the overseers form a line and wait until it was his turn to receive the items, all the while rubbing their body against the people in front and behind to keep warm. Sharing loots with the raiders was a new thing on the road to treachery, but nobody cared; the clothes were warm, and that was good enough.

"Praise the Archon for his generosity," the Sybarite boomed proudly, a reminiscence to Levantia of those hypocrite Ecclesiarchy priests who worked at the charity back on his homeworld. "Now do you believe in us? We fill your bellies and keep you warm and shield you from the evils of this universe like a father to his infant. What has you Imperium done for you?"

"Do you have anything bigger than these?" asked Bruno, struggling to put on his clothes. So large was the man that Levantia doubted the clothes would fit even his skeleton.

"Just deal with it," said Sveltanar wearily. "Perhaps the cold will help you get rid of some of your fat, and then you will be able to wear them."

Ignoring the conversation, Sybarite entered the room and approached the Farseer who was retreating at the corner of the cell and kept her face hidden behind a cloak of golden hair, seemingly oblivious to what was happening, though Levantia noticed her body was shaking faster than before. Instead of warm clothes, the Dark Eldar put a large blanket over her.

With a leery stare of a child in front of his favorite dish, the Sybarite spoke, "Wakey wakey, little Craftworlder. Look at what I've got for you." The Farseer's lack of responsiveness seemed to throw him off, as his expression hardened and his eyes narrowed. "The Archon is insisting that I keep you alive a little longer," he said. "I cannot fail him."

The next few sentences were in the dubious language that was the Eldar's. Then, he backhanded her sideways and wrapped the blanket around her frail body, squeezing it tightly to the point of immobilizing her. The Eldar did not resist, only yelping pathetically when the slap hit her cheek.

"How does she get to good stuff while we…" groaned Bruno who was having trouble fitting his ogryn-sized hands into gloves that were patently meant for normal humans. Sveltanar gave him an elbow smack and he shut up.

Levantia did not know how to feel about this. One on hand, an already broken woman being violated against her will even more was a deplorable sight indeed; on the other, she was not likely to turn into frozen meat, not any time soon, so that was a relief.

"There are more where that came from," the Sybarite addressed the Farseer admonishingly. "Every time I see you without this blanket, your face answers to my hand. And be certain, it gets harder every time. Do you understand?"

To Levantia's surprise, the Farseer nodded weakly. She seemed so stubborn and pretentious against all his attempts so far, but behaved condescendingly like a baby sheep when it came to the Sybarite. Whatever method the Dark Eldar was trying to get her to be less than a brick wall, it was working.

But a nod was not enough. The Sybarite kicked her in the side and repeated with a venomous, hissing voice, "It seems the magnitude of this situation is lost on you. Must I educate you every five seconds? I said, do you understand? Say something."

"Yes," the Farseer responded. Though the blanket absorbed most of the force, Levantia could see her obvious pain, but was not sure whether she deserved it or not. The galaxy was a cruel place, and people inflicting injuries upon one another a common sight. Yet, something within him died every time he saw her suffer. His heart throbbed as she let loose herself from the blanket and deftly rolled it over her body to maximize comfort.

Smiling satisfyingly, the Sybarite walked out of the cell and assigned the overseers to their respective posts without further due.

* * *

Today was another busy day. The loss of the central power grid had caused not only the ship to perform emergency exit from the Warp before the shield went down allowing daemons to materialize on board, but several functions of the ship to cease altogether. To make up for the lack of machinery, more labor was required, and thus, a larger number of slaves from the lower deck were summoned, this time becoming an integral part of the primary workforce instead of just an adjunct.

The lower class slaves were kept in the bottom deck which was separated from the rest by a chamber where the Mandrakes, predators coming out of a nightmare which even the Dark Eldar were fearful of, dwelled. According to Darelyn, these obscure monstrosities were a fusion of Eldar and daemonic spirits that haunted the darkest places within the Commorragh. Having lived their lives in shadows, the Mandrakes could not stand even the smallest amount of radiation, so lights with high level of ultraviolet were used to contain them to a specific part of the ship until they were needed to fill out their roles as infiltrators during a raid. Unlike the overseers, the slaves of the lower deck were not kept in confined cells but allowed to move freely, yet none of them would be so bold and so foolish as to wander into the dark where a fate much worse than death awaited them.

As Levantia saw hundreds, perhaps thousands humans herded like cattle, some in exotic bondages that looked like those crazies from the circuit performing dangerous escape tricks, except that one was a joke (though it would be much more entertaining if someone did die) and this one for real, some missing one or two, but not three or more limbs, many blinded following the removal of tear ducts, he reminded himself that if his emotions could not be restrained, this was how he would end up. It was by luck that none of the overseers had to experience this degradation, for they were chosen, hand-picked by the Haemonculus himself, right at the beginning after being captured to form the working class while they were still strong and able-bodied. Levantia could not imagine how someone tossed into such hell would survive, let alone dragged out to join the working class without any of the privilege associated with it and forced to exhaust whatever strength left.

Today, Levantia would fulfill the task the name of his rank indicated, to oversee the progress of the lower slaves. To be truth, some of the overseers actually found this task most inviting. Not only did they get the easy job sitting and standing around giving orders while others worked like dogs for them, but it also gave them an air of superiority, something they felt lost obeying every order given by the Dark Eldar for so long. Despite the anarchic nature of the xenos, the hierarchy they created was unequivocal: the Archons and his nobles were at the top of the food chain, followed by Kabalite members, then the overseers who, in theory, stood not too far from the previous group even if not many apart from Bruno was overt about that, and finally whatever left.

Levantia and Dividus were assigned to watch over a group of slaves, fourteen each, rotating two power-generating wheels. Apparently, the haughty xenos were not above using more primitive forms of technologies in hard times. The Wracks were normally responsible for this; unfortunately, most of them did not make it after the last raid and the ones remaining had all been summoned by the Haemonculus, no doubt assistance for his wicked experiment. The slaves were visibly trembling in the cold. Where the overseers were bestowed with warm clothes, these people had to contend with only a piece of rag covering their pelvis area.

"Faster, you pigs, faster," Dividus urged the frightened humans as they slowed down. When it failed to produce any result, the overseer brandished his whip to amplify his authority, which produced some effect, for the slaves put more effort into it and started to push it harder. "Be certain that the punishment for idleness, for incompetence and for hindrance to the accomplishment of duties is dire. The Archon demands these wheels being turned, and I am here to make sure they are.

One of the slaves, a man with horrendous markings on his shaved scalp, turned and looked pleadingly up at the overseer. Dividus stepped forward and punched him in the jaw, sending the poor man dazed for a moment and then back to work. "Your labor is required," he shouted, "but never see yourselves as our level, for you are destined to be inferior the moment you step foot on this ship."

"Why did you do that for?" Levantia blurted. There were things he considered necessary evil, and those that are just simply evil. For a while, he thought only the Dark Eldar were capable of the latter, that they were the both perpetrators and conductors; seeing his comrade doing what he wholeheartedly believed was wrong made him want to update his evaluation. "That was uncalled for."

"Why so?" asked Dividus, bristling with self-vindication.

"He was not slacking, I saw it," said Levantia. He did not want to point out the immorality, if not inhumanity of such action, so he came up with, "Doing so might reduce output and…"

"The negatives are marginal," Dividus did not even let him finish. "No one bothers that. I have not seen any of the Dark Eldar punish one of us for hitting a lower class slaves senselessly that he could not carry on with his toil."

Levantia was speechless. He had known and, as he now regretted, enjoyed the company of Dividus for quite a long time. The man was considerate, even if a bit too serious sometimes.

"Wake up, Carlos," Dividus continued solemnly. "This is not the Imperium of Man where every human is a human until you whisper praises to the Ruinous Power anymore. We need to show these…these beings once in possession of characteristics not much apart from ours that we are not one of them. If we don't prove the overseers and the rest are two disparate species altogether, the xenos masters might think about merging. And you don't want to be amongst them, do you?"

Levantia bit his lip to hold back his frustration. What his comrade just said was abhorrent. How dare he call himself a human after saying so? How could he look his fellow kinsmen in the eye and saw a disparate species?

Then, sick realization hit him with the force of a charging Squiggoth. What the Dark Eldar and this place did were monstrous, and in turn, they created nothing but monsters that fit their twisted images.

One woman working on Dividus's wheel dropped. She looked to be in the sixties, though the unforgiving condition of the ship might have made her a couple of decades older. The overseer stormed to her with unhidden rage.

"What do you think you are doing?" he demanded furiously. "Back to work or there will be repercussion."

The woman lied on the floor, breathing heavily, unable to move even a muscle. If lack of food and torment from the Dark Eldar were not the reason for her impairment, the cold was. Dividus applied some more pressure in the form of some whips with no result. Sighing, he grabbed her frail body and tossed into the dumper like a man tossing a bag of garbage. Levantia knew her destination: extraction chamber where what was left of her soul would be removed before it entered the Warp and turned into consumable cereal for the Dark Eldar, a process not too different from psykers being fed to the Golden Throne. Dividus pulled a lever and within a few seconds, another slave, a scrawny man in late fifties, not too shabby compared to the rest, entered the room and took up the woman's post.

All the while doing so, the overseer's face remained impassive, a fact that bewildered Levantia. Was this man even human anymore?

"Slacker," Dividus pointed to Levantia's wheel where a young boy who barely had any skin, let alone meat, on top his skeleton just collapsed. To say that the Dark Eldar let the slaves in lower deck starve to death was an exaggeration. They did offer enough food to sustain such population under the most austere consumption, which was not too distant from some of the underhives Levantia knew. The main problem lied in how it was distributed and who were eating, a debate in which much precious food was irrecoverably lost. Without someone charismatic like Sveltanar to channel fear into order and productivity, the lower deck inhabitants had all but degenerated into the basest, more primitive form of civilization. "He's yours. Deal with it."

Hardening his heart, Levantia did what he must. He seized the boy's elbow and forced him up back to the wheel. The boy was terribly weak, not fit for even the slightest work. The Dark Eldar chose their batch of worker indiscriminately, regardless of sex, age or physical condition. Whenever someone died or became useless, another would take his/her place.

"Get back to work," shouted Levantia.

The boy slacked and he pulled him up again. The boy looked at the overseer with beady eyes. Levantia struck him in the back.

"I said, get back to work."

Nothing happened. Levantia felt like going insane. His radical mind told him he should just leave the boy like this and call for a replacement, the option every other overseer and Dark Eldar had taken so far. Yet, a small voice within him reminded him who he and the meaning of his existence was: anything but that. Behind him, Dividus shook his head tiredly.

Levantia had a crazy idea. Truly insane, those circuit freaks might recruit him for that. Sveltanar had stressed the importance of not wasting food under any circumstance, and so Levantia had picked up the piece of bread which he originally was going to give to the Farseer. He had it right now in his pocket just in case this was going to be a double shift like the two days before. Compared to the Eldar woman, this boy probably needed more.

It was the right thing to do, he told himself, helping out his people. Even when his foe prevented him. Even when his friends prevented him.

Levantia pulled out the bread and offered it to the boy who hungrily accepted. Suddenly, a pair of hands pushed him aside, grabbed the piece of bread from the boy and tossed it to the ground like garbage. Levantia watched aghast as the man who did that stared at him. He was as pathetic as the boy Yet, for all his poor nourishment and lack of muscle, his eyes were something Levantia could never forget, cold, strong, determined, like that of a male lion defending its pride. Levantia had once possessed those eyes.

_How?_

_How could someone still have those eyes?_

_How could it be a lower class slave?_

"Save your pity, traitor," the man spat. Though his voice was coarse, it carried resolution. It more than terrified Levantia, threatening to break his sanity asunder. "My son does not need that."

"He is dying," Levantia retorted. Surely a father would want the best for his son. Surely.

"And a piece of bread would change that?"

For the second time, Levantia was at a loss of words. The man spoke the truth. What difference would it make? In on crazy moment, he had done it out of sympathy with an consideration given to the consequences.

"I-I... I am just…,"Levantia stuttered.

"If you really want to help," the man went on. "Kill the man next to you. Kill all the xenos. Praise the Emperor."

"That is impossible," said Levantia.

"Then at least you could die trying," the man sighed.

He then dragged up the boy, wrapped his hand around the wheel and gave them both a push. Both of them went back to work as normal.

"It was a good thing it did not go through," said Dividus. "What did Sveltanar say about wasting food pointlessly."

Levantia did not respond. He might be frozen on the spot, but his heart was burning with anger and with grief, hotter than the center of a Forge World. He was an idiot to believe anything would ever get better. The Eldar Farseer was right, the white hero wrong. This was how the way things were.

"You don't belong with us," said Dividus profoundly. "Why are you even here?"

* * *

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully. Eleven more had to be sent off. No double shift this time. Darelyn did not show up, not good because Levantia was desperate in need of a companion to speak to. Neither did Crox, excellent because after what he experienced today, Levantia would rather stab himself in the heart than take part in his bizarre art creation.

By the time he made it back to the cell, Levantia had never felt so thoroughly exhausted. Today, more of him had died from the truth.

"Fuck this shit," Bruno swore, scratching his body frantically. "I am not wearing this crap. It gives me all kinds of itchiness."

How could he still complain when there were people freezing to death - people ready to do anything just to have a segment of that? Levantia thought.

"Quit bitching around," said Relius. "I am sure it won't be long until they have the power fixed and the heating on. Just keep working hard and that day will be closer."

Levantia felt like his head exploding. Work, work, work. Was that indeed all humanity could think of? Was Darelyn correct when she said the human race was destined to be in service of the Dark Eldar?

Everything said by his friends, his comrades he normally took for grant became poison darts aimed for his heart. Levantia was in no mood to socialize with any of them right now, not when after seeing Dividus did what he thought was exclusive to xenos and heretics.

_Everyone here was a heretic._

"Levantia boy, what's wrong?" asked Sveltanar, looking worried. The old man took good care of the wellbeing of everyone in this cell. Levantia had come to regard him more as a father figure than a master or a leader. "You don't look so well."

"I am fine," replied Levantia curtly.

"You don't sound fine either," said the old man, sitting down next to him. "You are bothered. You are depressed. We all are, but you seem more than any of us. Why so sudden?"

"I had a rough day," Levantia said dismissively. Not that he did not to trust the old man's sincerity, but his baser instinct had suppressed any positive thought at this point, reducing him to nothing more than an empty hulk.

"We all do," Sveltanar shook his head sadly. He turned around sharply and called out, "Dividus, what's wrong? Did you give Levantia here a hard time? He's just a boy, for Throne's sake."

"Look," explained Dividus. "We were just doing our works like we are meant to. Overseeing the worms, the stuffs like that. Carlos just had a rude awakening today. He'll get over it. No permanent effect, I am sure."

Levantia was too traumatized to respond, but perhaps Dividus was right. Perhaps this was the last day he ever had this feeling, and tomorrow he would be more stout and ready to face the cold hard truth.

The old man narrowed his eyes suspiciously, saying "What sort of rude awakening are you talking about? I wish to know, because some are actually more... hazardous than others, permanently effectual or not. If he's gotten something contagious, like poor Walrus last month, we might have to forcefully quarantine him."

Levantia felt physically healthy, as in as healthy as can be, yet the idea of quarantining him did not sound too bad. At least he would have time for himself pondering about the lessons he learned and the new meaning of his life.

"He got…well, rejected," replied Dividus. "It's nothing, really."

"Ohhh, but that is definitely not nothing," Sveltanar declared. "Not in my book." He turned back to face at a Levantia and allowed a mirth to escape his lips. "I see your situation there. But don't worry, you are still young and gay and have much too live for, your journey has just started. Do not let this regrettable incident sap your will. Strengthen your will and move on, then you will find your way."

"How?" asked Levantia, almost crying out. How could Sveltanar remain so optimistic despite abandoning everything he once stood for? Had the Dark Eldar brainwashed him somehow?

"Believe, of course," said the old man. "Do so and things will get better. There are two types of persons who do not, they are those that have given up entirely and those eating human brains for lunch. You are neither, aren't you?"

"Very close to the former," Levantia admitted.

"Then let us reserve the progress when there is still time," said Sveltanar with a sense of urgency. "Rejected by one, accepted by another." He indicated the Eldar Farseer sitting at the corner which Levantia, in his maddened rage, had forgotten completely. The sight of her gave him further heartaches. She sat alone and without the blanket given earlier, her body showing no color and her skin looked to have stiffened significantly since he last saw her. No further signs of abuse meant the Sybarite was all barks and no bites, which was not surprising considering the Dark Eldar were capable of keeping their promises and much as the Orks having table manner. If this went on, there would be a good chance the Sybarite would end up the same as those power technicians he had been ranting about.

"I can't do this," Levantia whimpered. "I tried and tried. I just…can't get close to her."

"She's a freaking xeno, what were you expecting?" Bruno shrilled. "Back in my regiment, we don't talk offer anything to xenos, we don't talk to xenos, we don't have mercy with xenos. Do you know what we did to those who break the rules?"

"Ignore him," Sveltanar said briskly, addressing Levantia. "I can already see a bubble of grief is building up inside you. Now, you have two choices: pop it or let it choke you to death. And make it quick."

"But…," Levantia began. He was interrupted by the old man pulling him to his feet and pushed him in the direction of the Eldar. However, he did not turn back nor show any hesitation as he walked the rest of the way. He was determined to finish this once and for all, lest his mentality be lost forever.

Coming face to face with the Eldar woman, Levantia felt as though a rock had been stuck in his throat. No words came out. The impasse might have lasted for hours if the Farseer had been initiated the conversation.

"If my memory serves, you are that pervert who has been stalking me for two days?"

"I am not a pervert." Levantia wanted to punch himself in the face for blurting out like that. This was probably his last chance at reconciling with her, and it did not have a good start.

"Then what do you want?" she asked wearily. As Levantia noticed the way she spoke was much more hoarse than before and the melodic tone had been reduced to barely audible level. Her voice was not the only thing that had deteriorated. Her slim body looked pathetic, her once captivating golden hair was a mess with locks all over the place covering much of her face and her delicate toes looked like they had turned into stones.

"I want to help," said Levantia, bringing forward all the sternness he could muster. For all the spite he had for the Eldar and her foul sorcery that led to the destruction of his regiment, a part in him told him with certainty that his spirit would be irrecoverably damaged if he leave her to die. "Please, let me."

"I can't," the Farseer replied with a gloom face. "My crimes are heinous and irreversible, for I have wronged you all in a way unforgivable. My only source of comfort is to at least die with some dignity. I simply cannot accept the blessing of the people I victimized."

"How could you call this dignity?" Levantia was outraged. All the hatred he had for the Eldar came back like a rushing stream, almost as powerful as the hatred he had for the white hero. "Starving yourself to death when there is clearly another way? I can never understand your race. The Dark Eldar are evil beyond reasons and rationality, but for the very least, they know what they good at and always live up to it. The Craftworld kin can never stop blowing hot and cold."

"Every culture has its norms and values," said the Farseer. "I don't expect you to comprehend either." Then she added with a low tone, "Yet, sometimes, I wished my culture weren't this way."

"Maybe it is time for a change," Levantia insisted. "We change. We adapt to our new environment. What we are doing now would earn us death sentences from the Imperium of Man and nobody bothers too much. Why can you not do the same?"

"Because our race is not as fickle as yours," said the Eldar. "We choose to remain the same, whether in rain or in shine. It is a blessing, but also a horrible curse."

"Even until now you are clinging onto a culture that is dead?" asked Levantia, remembering Darelyn saying about all the Eldar Gods were vanquished by the deity known as She-Who-Thirsts.

"You speak the truth, Levantia-human," the Farseer replied, voice ridden with grief. "And that is the grave I shall dig for myself. Live your life and keep your hope. Mine are both forfeited."

"Forget all of it." Levantia was desperate. He pulled out the piece of bread of earlier. Already rejected twice, it was less edible than it once was, but for some reason, Levantia was extremely reluctant to let it go. "No one deserves to die in any way. No one should be so willing to accept such pointless death. Have this. You cannot go on like this forever. Listen to what I have to say, I am begging you."

This was his final chance, his final hope. Failure at this point would mean the needless loss of one life and the deprivation of what was left of his humanity. If the other humans could not accept him, then a person of the same rank and position, albeit different race, had to.

The Farseer did not reply. Instead, she broke eye contact and turned her head down.

The more this went on, the more frustrated the human became. And yet, the more frustrated he was at her stubbornness, the more determined Levantia was in convincing her that life consisted of more than adhering to abiding traditions that had nothing to do with reality.

But how could he do so? The Sybarite seemed to have achieved some degree of success using brutal force, but Levantia doubted it was the right way to go given how weak she was.

She was guilty of putting him into this mess in the first place, guilty of perpetrating and playing an important role in committing egregious crimes against humanity. As member of the human race, fickle but not so forgetful, insignificant but self-conscious, he could never forgive.

She was a woman, thrown into the pit of despair, about to die and yet, unwilling to take in sympathy out of shame and an uncompromising culture. Only humans with the darkest of heart would let it come to pass. And of course, Bruno.

Levantia found himself in a dilemma. It was righteousness or compassion, for neither could exist when the other still was. To win something, one truly had to give up all on the others. Just as he had forsaken his faith in the Emperor in exchange for his life, now Levantia would make a decision that would potentially change everything.

"You are not forfeited," he said finally. "Because I will not let you. Because I forgive you for everything you did. You are pardoned, your crimes null."

"How?" asked the Farseer, surprised. "Why the change of heart?"

"What has happened cannot be changed," said Levantia. "There is no point crying over spilled milk now. I do not care if you are the one who puts my life into ruin, or the one who caused the death and suffering of hundred thousand others. Your are here, next to me, among my people, and that is the only thing that concerns me. While your race look to the past and cling onto it, we set our eyes for the future. And the future, I believe, does not have to end right here."

"You humans are known to be terrible at excusing others," the Eldar blurted. "I know that because I have seen what you have done to those of your race who have reneged the Imperial Creed and defect to the Tau or Chaos Empire. Why are you doing this?"

"There are many qualities that make up a human being," Levantia explained. What the Eldar love to do with humans was stereotyping and seeing all of them as the same, with a fixed set of characteristics and an aura of inferiority. They were not incorrect, but human beings had always been capable of rationality and irrationality all the same, making them less of an emotionally distinctive race in the universe. "Neither forgiveness nor vindictiveness could classify them all. However, in the case, I cannot retain on without abdicating the other. And I choose to remit you."

"Those are some deep words, for a human," said the Eldar. For the first time, she let out a soft smile, rather amused by her discovery, which vanished as soon as it materialized. "And for all your effort, you are still but a drop in the ocean. No one else will accept me for what I did. I am…"

"Pardon me, but…," somebody cut her off.

Both Levantia and the Eldar looked at the source of the interruption. Levantia's heart skipped a beat. It was Relius. In fact, all the overseers in the room were standing up facing them.

"We have heard your conversation all along," Relius continued. "I can make a twenty minute speech to elaborate on the matters, but you will probably starve to death before that. So, long story short, nobody here cares a damn about your sin."

"I do," Bruno shrilled. "That lazy bitch doesn't deserve that blanket." But nobody here cared a damn about what he said either.

"Carlos gave us a good reminder about what we are," said Dividus, addressing the Farseer. "And we are grateful for that. No point for you to give up like that."

"What's done is done," said Sveltanar. "We all forgive you. Let us all create a better tomorrow. So what do you say? Do you still want to die, regardless of people who care about you? Or will you repent for your sins by doing us a favor and living on?"

There were murmurs in approval from the rest. Levantia almost burst to tears. The Eldar already did. Now as he gave her the piece of bread, she took it without hesitation. The first bites were small and slow, but then they got quicker and bolder. It was no time before the bread was finished. An applause came from the other overseers who then sat down and minded their own businesses, occasionally sparing glances to the two of them. Levantia was relieved like never before.

_If she were a lower class slaves, their expressions would be completely reversed. _

He perished the thought. He could never lay doubt on any person in this cell, not any longer. They were family now, and no matter how odious the truth was, they stuck together till the end.

Levantia went to the storage came back to the Eldar with a couple of potatoes, some dried fruits and jug of water (or the brackish liquid akin to that). As he was going to hand them all to her at once, Sveltanar spoke to him.

"Wait up, boy."

"I know it is more than the daily ration you talk about. But she has not eaten in ages, so…"

"Exactly," the old man replied sharply. "And her stomach is not used to working; it needs some time to get started." Indigestion was a major threat, second only to heart attacks and Nurgle's vomiting frenzy disease, as he was so fond of saying.

Levantia acquiesced and gave the Eldar the food slowly but surely. She munched on it hungrily like a shark, a sight her fellow people would be shocked upon witnessing. As she finished, Levantia grabbed the blanket and pulled it over her. This time, she did not resist.

As their eyes met again, Levantia could see her mood had lightened dramatically. Her eyes were less red and her cheeks blossomed with pink. She would survive, at least for now, and the Sybarite would keep his . But on the Eternity of Torment, nothing could be absolute. The Archon's plan would be advanced by this development, that was for sure, if he had any plan to begin with. Following the revelation, Levantia began to think Feharuln Snaketongue might not be as great and magnificent as he built himself as. It was clear that without the Farseer, things went downhill pretty fast.

Whatever the case, today was a defeat and also a triumphant. He had lost all sense of righteousness, but retained his humanity in an unshakable grip. Within this confide where iniquity permeated, it was a fair trade.

For tonight, Levantia joined next to the Farseer instead of his people. He would stay with her as long as it took, protecting her, protecting his humanity. No matter the cost. No matter the ultimate price.

_He was an idiot._

_But an idiot standing strong._

The Eldar placed her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. For the first time in many days, she slept peacefully and without trouble.

"That guy is a real player, I am telling you," Relius commented. "Never have I thought he was into the pointy-eared type."

Player? Levantia's mind was racing. They knew. They freaking knew about his affair with Darelyn all along. Then, he realized when he said he was rejected, they probably thought she gave him the boot. How that could have happened was the craziest twist of word meanings ever. The Laughing God must be rolling on the floor braying his ass off right about now.

Who knew how such outrageous misunderstanding could turn out so sweet in the end?

* * *

_**Author's note: Hope you enjoy this one. I will try to update this once every month, so be sure to check it out. **_

_**Updated: This chapter has been revised heavily, especially the last part. I take into account every constructive critcism seriously.**_


	4. Chapter 4: The past is with us all

_Twenty years earlier…._

_The world was consumed in an inferno._

_The boy, barely five years old, found a new sensation creeping into him, sending chills across his entire body and making his skin crawl, even as his young mind struggled to cope with what was going on. It was fear. Primal fear. Fear of closing his eyes and leave his fate to uncertainty. Fear of opening them, only to be greeted by scenes of absolute terror, worse than any form of nightmare._

_To be perfectly honest, his life had not been carefree on this agriculture world of Axiome. The weather was hot and humid all year long, and disease was a common thing. His father died to sickness before he could even speak. He took up his father's work right after that. To make sure the plants do not go dry, the boy had to run across to the other side of the hill where the only well within three hundred kilometers laid and then back again with heavy buckets of water. If any day he did not do that, the landlord would give him a good hiding. Last time was two months ago; the marks had yet to disappear. At noon, he and his mother had to work on the field alongside fifty others, exposing themselves without any break or any form of protection under the unforgiving, hateful twin sun, until late night. Life here was hard, but for the very least, the boy did not have to worry about getting reduced to atoms by metal monstrosities. _

_Until just now._

_The apocalypse did not come in the invasion of outside force, but from the very depth of the planet where an ancient evil dwelt. They rose without warning. They struck without mercy. They killed without emotion. Matching in baleful cohesion, the metal men unleashed utter destruction everywhere they went._

_It was not even a battle. It was a slaughter._

_The boy felt his heart throbbing. The plantation, the village, the storage house, all went up in flame. His friends, his neighbors, and thankfully his obnoxious overseers, too, dead, their bodies literally vaporized by the green alien beams that struck them with eerie accuracy. His mother, tugging her traumatized son on her arms next to her waist, ran for their lives amidst the chaos. If the Emperor truly protected, then this must be His day off._

_A dazzling flash of light engulfed the boy's vision. The next thing he knew, he was thrown bodily to the ground, bruising both his knees and elbows. His mind raced. He could not move. His mother was lying on top of him, what was left of her. Her mid-section was half gone. She did not scream as she died. The boy was too frightened for his own life to be worried about her, too frightened to even let out a scream. His eyes were hot with tears._

_The metal men were coming closer. Hundreds of them. Accompanied by vehicles that seemed to float impossibly above the ground without touching it._

_They finally saw him, a young boy trapped beneath the corpse of his mother. With face as blank as a cutting board, one of the metal men shouldered its weapon and poised to fire. The boy shut his eye. Brilliant light bathed on him. It was all over._

_But it was not._

_The light that surrounded him was pristine white, unlike the macabre green emitted by the metal men. The boy let his curious eyes open. Greeted he was by the sight of a figure, humanoid, larger than any person he had seen, clad in complete white. The figure stood between him and the metal men._

_And then it was gone, disappeared in the same light that heralded its arrival. The boy was dumbfounded by what had just taken place. As he watched, the metal men had been struck by the same thing. They had stopped in unison, scanning the area warily with glowing green eyes, none of them training their weapon at the human's direction anymore. They knew as much as he did that something was not right._

_Suddenly, the air thickened and with a loud bang, the figure he just saw earlier materialized right between the first and second rank of metal men. The boy could not see what happened next, but he reckoned a white cloak flirting in the air, the sound of metal clanging together, and by the time the figure disappeared again, he noticed numerous metal men had been removed from the formation. The metal men opened fire, but it was not with methodology or attentiveness like they did before; they literally fired in every direction possible. And yet, that did them no good as the figure appeared and vanished again and again in quicker sequences, each time leaving a few more of the metal men dead (if they were alive in the first place), many of which knocked out by their uncaring comrades. The floating truck went up in flame. One of the cars blew up at the rear, crashing nose first to the ground. Green lightning crackled as the thing was torn apart, its energy from within turning against it._

_It was a slaughter. Only this time, the metal men were the one being slaughtered._

_The one-sided battle went on for about ten minutes until all the metal men and their vehicles lied in broken, distorted heaps._

_The boy watched in amazement. The white figure once again stood in front of him. It looked like a human in armor, but neither the design nor inscription rang any bell. The helmet was tall and curved. Two antennas sprouted awkwardly from his back, as though belonging to some insect. He was a warrior, wielding a broadsword in one hand and a round shield painted in black and white in the other. Whoever he was, he could not have come from Axiome. _

_An outsider. Perhaps even an alien._

_The boy tensed up as the warrior approached. He might have killed the metal men, but there was no way of telling if his intentions were good in the first place. The boy's mother always told him not to trust strangers, let alone someone from another world altogether. His anxiety evaporated the moment a gauntleted hand flipped over his mother's body to release him from underneath while another gently closed her bewildered eyes, making her expression one of peacefulness one more._

_Outsider or not, alien or not, this person was not evil. He was a hero, clad in pure white and coming to deliver the boy._

_The boy began to cry. His father died a long time ago. He had only a mother left, and now she was gone as well. He had no job to make a living on, no one to relate to, no place to live. His world was hell._

_"Don't cry, boy," said the hero. The voice was powerful, yet tender and melodic at the same time, as though spoken by not just one, but two persons. "You are alive, and that is reason to celebrate. Your mother, standing by the Emperor right now, would be glad. Show her you are a man now. Show her that all her efforts raising you, protecting you had not been for naught."_

_The boy replied between sobs. "You…you are just….saying that…to make me…feel better. I have…nothing left."_

_"Nothing but your faith," the hero said. "I do not expect you to feel better just by mere words I said. What will become of you is entirely and wholly up to you, whether you show vigor and overcome the challenges, or choose to be a coward and back down. Though the journey might be long and the destination hidden in mist, do know that everything will get better; all you need to do is believe in it."_

_"Believe?" asked the boy. "In…what?"_

_"You will find it out. Soon enough."_

_….._

_It took three months._

_Reinforcements from the Astra Militarum and the Adeptus Astartes poured into Axiome like a maelstrom, devouring all that stood before them. Brimming with righteous fury and vindicated hatred for the unclean, they purged the metal men in their accursed lairs, one catacomb after another until none was left and the planet declared free of xenos taint._

_Though the outsiders claimed much of the credit, especially from the media, many citizens of Axiome mentioned a white angel coming to the rescue, stemming the tide of metal men before reinforcement could arrive en masse. They were either ignored or put down as seeing illusions under pressure._

_By that time, the boy who carried two buckets of water across the hill was no more. In place, it was a boy who ran across five hills and three villages to catch up with the warriors of the Emperor just as they were about to depart. He was exhausted when he got there, but he was triumphant, nevertheless. He wished not a life on an agriculture world. He thirsted for adventure. He wanted to be someone, to make the Emperor proud, to make the white hero proud._

_But at last, he was not fit to become a Space Marine. The Chaplain admired his courage, but the strenuous procedure to become mankind's greatest warriors could not be accomplished through force of will alone. The Astra Militarum took him in, but not as a rank and file soldier. Their commander saw a brighter future for the boy. Not right now, but given appropriate training and education and time, a splendid warrior could be born._

_And so the boy was sent to a Scholar Progenium, home and place to begin for future generations of elite Imperial troopers and commanders._

* * *

Levantia awoke in the middle of the night. He was sweating hard and his whole body shook. In his dream, his affair with Darelyn was exposed. He saw himself on Crox's torture rack, only this time the previous victim was the one doing the cleaning, only this time he was a Grotesque with four spider-like arms. He was wiping the floor splattered with Levantia's blood and organ as the Haemonculus gleefully went on with his work. Then, what was left of his body was thrown into the overseer cell to be devoured by its hungry occupants. And the worst part was that they did not even do it; they said he tasted like dried macaroni.

It was just a nightmare, Levantia reminded himself, though part of him knew those events were only inches away from reality. If the Dark Eldar knew about him being with one of the Trueborn nobles, Emperor knew what was going to happen. The prospect terrified him. He did not want to die, not after going through so much. He did not want to end up on Crox's torture rack. And most of all, he really did not want to taste like dried macaroni. That was just gross.

Here, middle of the night was no difference from morning or noon, for the Eternity of Torment was constantly dark apart from a few sources of illumination. The Dark Eldar had no concept of keeping time, working and fighting and relaxing and doing what evil filthy xenos normally did whenever they pleased. Now that the overseers were taken into account, they came up with a pale replication of day and night circle as well as a schedule of time of work to make sure their upper-class slaves would function to the highest level of efficiency. Sveltanar had coined the term "night" the time where he turned the light in the cell off and people went to sleep with no further question otherwise somebody (mostly Bruno) would have to bang them unconscious to make sure the others had some rest, a definition no one wished to argue against.

Looking around, Levantia saw his fellow humans were huddled together, some patently bear-hugging one another. They were all sleeping soundly. The sight made his heart warm. It reminded him of how humans yearn to be a sociable species, a trait demonstrated to the fullest in times of hardship. Bruno was snoring like a pig; they put him five meters from the rest. Given how much fat the big man had, he would probably survive the night.

His body shaking, Levantia wondered if it was because of the cold or the aftershock he had from that dreadful nightmare. He found it was neither. He was not shaking on his own. The body leaning right against his shoulder was causing it to happen. The Farseer, face pressed into his sleeve, was convulsing like a Hormagaunt caught between the presences of two Hive Minds belonging to two different, opposing Hive Fleets. He doubted it was the cold, for the blanket that covered her, wherever the Dark Eldar stole from, seemed enough for someone left naked on the surface of Fenris to survive indefinitely.

Looking closer, he saw tears ran down her cheeks and she was muttering to herself something in the Eldar's language while biting her lip, making it bleed. From his studies, the Eldar were emotionally more sensitive to humans. If Levantia just woke up from a bad dream, he wondered what kind of nightmare she had in order to cause her body to operate in such manner.

Levantia would have found the situation awkward had it not been for the constant prodding from Darelyn ever since he came here. Here he was, next to what would fit the category of enemies of Men, and he approached not with fire burning at heart nor righteous fury clenched in fists, but with the same tenderness as if she had been just another human. Though young even by human standards, Levantia had witnessed a lifetime of combat. He knew the danger posed by those touched by the Warp, his encounter with Ork Weirdboyz and a Daemon Lord of Change proving to be both unpleasant and deathly. But right now, despite being aware what an Eldar Farseer was capable of, despite his knowledge that her expertise in Divination had brought about many important victories to the Kabal of the Shadow Talon, he could see not a single threat from this woman. Besides, the Dark Eldar could not have let a powerful psykers like that out of their sight without any safety measures.

"Don't…leave me…," the Farseer moaned. She was speaking in Low Gothic this time, unlike before where she whimpered in her own tongue while asleep. "No, please, don't…leave me. Not…like this."

"I am not leaving you," Levantia laid a hand softly on her shoulder and pulled himself closer to her.

The Eldar opened her eyes and stared at him blankly for a few seconds, startled. Breathing rapidly, she then wiped her tears and said, "If you choke me, will it last long before I can die?"

"What?" asked Levantia, confused. "Why would you be asking something like that?"

"Murder me."

"Why?"

"Should I ask your friend to do it?" She pointed at Bruno.

"Don't bother him," Levantia was vehement. The last person who did so was Relius. He immediately became a yoga master with all the body bending he received. It took the whole night to bring him back to normal. "And he is not _my_ friend. You are already plaguing one person, and that is one too many. Let's not spread it across the room. What makes you want to die all of a sudden?"

"I…I could not let you see me in this state," the Eldar replied almost frantically. "I want to keep it to myself. I am weak. I am a coward. I am nobody."

"No you are not."

"Now you know the truth about me, you won't care about me anymore," the Eldar insisted.

"I already knew it from the start," Levantia replied. He did not want to admit watching her like some perverted stalker, but then again, her actions were pretty overt to begin with, as though she had never made any effort to hide her weaknesses. "It makes no difference to me."

The Farseer's face reddened. She looked down and mumbled, "My life has no meaning. The Laughing God mocks at me while the Mistress of Fate gives me cold shoulder. I am unneeded by anyone."

Levantia felt his heart tightened by what she said. Though he had lifted her of the feeling of guilt, restoring her mentality, with exception to being an arrogant peacock, would take some more time. The feeling of being left out, forsaken and cast down within her was stronger than he imagined, and Levantia was not sure how to lift that since, as hard as it was to admit, there was hardly anything she could have done to help out the overseers except placing a further burden on them. From what Levantia heard, not even Relius was fond of her, and he was the lady's man of the group. However, a part of him was still cognizant of the fact the Dark Eldar were no fools; they would not have put her in this cell instead of the one six floor below if she was indeed unneeded.

"There are not many Eldar in this galaxy," said Levantia. "I thought you would value life a bit more."

The Farseer sniffed. She looked embarrassed, her face reddening. She clasped both hands into her face, unable to confront the human in front of her, the human who mended and heart and broke it at the same time. "So…you heard all of it, didn't you? What I was talking in my sleep."

Levantia shook his head. "Not really. Most of the rambling was in your language, so I did not catch that."

"I was rambling in two languages?"

"Wait, you don't even know?"

The Eldar blushed even more. Levantia frowned. He was more amused than annoyed at this point. The Farseer placed his hand on her throat. Her hands were gloved, but her creamy throat was bare. This was the second time he touched her skin, the previously one being her dirty foot, and once again, he found himself entranced by the sensation.

"Choke me," she begged, closing her eyes. She actually meant it.

Levantia had had many embarrassing incidents in his life, and no doubt he would continue to experience them given his being absent-minded, but losing the will to live because of them seemed exaggerated. A veteran of countless encounters that would have been nerve-wrenching to lesser men, he even survived that no-toilet-paper-on-the-fifty-seventh-floor catastrophe quite nicely without causing much of a scandal, despite having to blackmailing all those who had taken pictures or videos of the incident.

Instead of squeezing on it, he caressed her neck mildly.

"I cannot end your life right here," he said, withdrawing his grasp. "Not after I tried so hard to keep it. Not when my very humanity is on the line." After the incident where his offer was refused by the lower-class slave, he had become aware of the gap between the overseers and the rest of the humans on board. Any attempt to breach it was as pointless as building a bridge across space to connect two worlds. He needed someone to care for, and the Eldar woman was the person he yearned to help the most, without whom his life would be as empty as the cold, dark void outside this ship.

The Eldar looked up at him. Swiping her tears, she opened a smile on her pretty face. "You really are a peculiar human, aren't you, Carlos Levantia?"

"And you are one heck of a xeno, too," Levantia countered. "Whoever you are. You already know my name, and more about my background than I am comfortable with, so my introduction is out of the question. What should I call you other than, you know, Eldar?"

"Feliandriel," the Farseer replied.

"Felia-what?" asked Levantia. Many of the Eldar's names were a pain to pronounce. It took him a full week to finally utter Feharuln properly (mostly due to the fact he had no idea how to spell it), and he was the person everyone on board constantly talked about. Thank the Emperor both Darelyn and Crox's names were less complex and more compatible for the human throat.

"You have a golden heart," the Eldar said. Levantia could swear she was giggling. "But you brain is still cold iron. As expected from a human."

"Just give me one week," Levantia promised. "I will master it, eventually. I hope."

"You can call me Felia," said the Farseer.

"Alright." Levantia was relieved. Learning about the Eldar and their (mostly dark) culture had been onerous so far without having to mesmerize all those names that sounded downrightly alien to him. "So, Felia. You still want to end your life?"

The Eldar shook her head. "I suppose I should let my river of fate flow into a new direction, instead of coming to that dead end. Thank you, for everything you did to me. It bestows me with hope that there are still good people somewhere in this gloomy galaxy. May the light of Lileath shine upon your soul."

"That is flattering," said Levantia. Darelyn said pretty much the same thing. He could not see why. He never saw himself as unique or special. He failed his initiation to become a Space Marine. He was fearful of the Dark Eldar and looked up to Sveltanar like a father figure as much as everyone else. It was only recent that he realized how much other people needed him in return. "You said good people in this galaxy. What about the ones from your Craftworld?"

The Farseer stiffened a shrill. Her eyes were teary again as if he had touched some part of her that was meant to be left forgotten. "They are anything but," she responded emphatically.

"Is that why you end up here?" asked Levantia. Though his heart told him to stop placing more burdens on her, curiosity got the better of him and the words churned out before he could resist.

"My Craftworld is a minor one," the Farseer explained. "We have a hard time surviving in this universe. When the threat from an incoming Ork warband seems inevitable, we had no choice but to call for help. Other Craftwords were either too far away or too busy with their own businesses to lend us any aid. The Exodites refused to take part in a war that did not concern them. The nearby Space Marine garrison, we were afraid to call upon them, given their reputation. And so,…"

"The Kabal of the Shadow Talon is your last resort," Levantia finished on her behalf. "I can see that."

"The Orks did not stand a chance," the Farseer continued. "They were slaughtered by our combined effort. We were overjoyed back then, only to realize we have invited wolves into our house. As victory drew near, the dark kin began to terrorize the populace, asking for fitting rewards for their coming to the deliverance. They demanded one thousand three hundred slaves, one for each Dark Eldar who died defending the Craftworld. The council discussed with them and a new bargain was struck. Instead of one thousand three hundred lives, one was given. A Farseer."

"You," said Levantia. "Your Divination can bring about more benefit to the Kabal in the future." The Dark Eldar were cunning enough with experience harnessed from longevity and a lifetime of backstabbing within the realm of Commorragh, but their tactical competence was still restrained by what they had seen and expected to see with their own eyes, not to mention the arrogance that clouded their decision and turned half-guesses into concrete statements. The addition of the ability to look into the future and know what moves their opponent would take would remove such restriction, like an already vicious tiger growing wings.

Felia nodded. Tears began flooding her face. Levantia did not want the conversation to go on any further. She had already suffered enough. She bawled, "They chose me because they saw I was the weakest, because I am the most useless, because they thought if they were to have me, the damage they inflict would be minimum. My mother…my very mother, the one I love more than anything, the one I thought loved me more than anything, did not even stand up for me."

They should have just asked the Space Marine for help, Levantia thought wearily. If only the Eldar could see pass their pride and start giving credit to other races and factions. But then again, they still seemed forward-looking and conscious about the wider picture, as in what pain the Dark Eldar could unleash upon the galaxy with a powerful psykers at their side. They knew they had to prevent it, though seeing how the Kabal of the Shadow Talon had been so successful for quite some time thanks to Felia and her power to predict the future, their plot had failed miserably.

"You don't have to say anymore," Levantia soothed, not wanting to her the Eldar antagonizing herself any further. "You can stop now."

"I want to prove them wrong," Felia screeched fiercely like an animal under the light after being kept in the dark for too long. "I would master the skein and the runes better than anyone else. I would make the Shadow Talon the most powerful Kabal in the Commorragh. Then, they will see."

The Eldar seized Levantia at the sleeves and pulled her face to his chest. The overseer tensed at the sudden emotional outburst.

"And yet, I only proved the opposite," she continued blubbering. "I led the Kabal into disaster. The entire planet should have been undefended and unprepared, its people lambs for slaughter. And yet, an entire cohort of Space Marines just slipped right beneath my nose. I failed. The council was right. The Archon got upset and threw me away. Now, I do not know what will become of me anymore."

"Stop that!" Levantia shouted. He withheld the urge to hit her. For the second time, he was unsure what he felt for her. Not only had she willingly cooperated with the Dark Eldar, as opposed to being forced to like he originally thought, but she also considered humans as subjects to test out her skills. "Cut it out. You are not gaining any sympathy from saying that."

The Eldar looked at him with soulful gold eyes. She was dumbfounded.

"You are not the only person with a shitty life around here," Levantia said harshly. "I lost my family when I was five and almost my life as well if someone had not intervened. When I was eleven, I was already used to eating whips instead of dinner. My regiment was destroyed in battle and I lost my freedom. I have to deal with that, so will you. So why do you not stop acting like a baby with a silver spoon in her mouth and get over with all this shit?"

The Farseer fell silent for a moment. Levantia was worried he might have been too harsh. She was, after all, a woman, armed with psychic power and a long life, yet still delicate and vulnerable. Before Darelyn, he had not been talking seriously with any woman for donkey's years. Then again, he was still a soldier, and soft stuffs did not really appeal to him.

The Eldar buried her face into his chest, letting the tears seep through. Letting her body loosed, Felia inhaled deeply and said, "I was being too self-centered and imprudent. I did not know I was offending you. I am sincerely sorry."

"Let's not think about it," Levantia told her, his mood lightening up. Compared to before, she was more condescending now, her pride embracing a new route, one which took into account others surrounding her. If only the Dark Eldar could ever in a million years change like that. "The pass is gone. Look forward. There might yet be a way we can both get out of this."

"I do hope so," said Felia.

Levantia sighed. "Somebody I once cared about told me that everything will get better if I believe in it. I held on to that idea every single day of my life, more so when I got here. I would have given it up had it not been for you. What you did to me, I am grateful as well."

"Believe it what?"

"I do not know. He said I would find out some day."

"And this person you speak of, you said you once cared about him. What about now?"

"He can eat a piece of shit for all I am concerned."

"But his words still held?"

"Probably." Levantia shrugged. "Maybe."

Felia chuckled. Like any Eldar he had seen, she could change her emotion dramatically in such short amount of time, a reason why her entire race was looked upon as fickle and untrustworthy. The Imperium used this logic to downplay or outright discredit the Eldar's role every time they fought alongside while making them always the main protagonist whenever the two factions clashed. The Eldar was an alien race, and any alien race must have some qualities that distinct it completely from humanity, qualities to justify they were evil or inferior or unbeneficial.

And yet, sitting right next to one, Levantia could not help but be fond of her. She was part of his life now, his other half without which he could never feel complete. Community lent him the strength to accept this dreadful environment and move on, but Felia gave him a reason to keep being human, a reason not to forsake hope completely. No matter what, he would never let her go.

_Never._

_Clinging on like an idiot._

"If that is the case, then…" Felia suddenly stopped. Her eyes were wide open with an expression of absolute terror. Before Levantia reacted, she let out a deafening scream that shook everyone in the room awake.

"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!"

"Fucking shit," Bruno swore.

"What the hell is going on?" demanded Sveltanar, jolting up. "Have you been doing anything to her, boy?"

"I was not doing anything," Levantia replied in panic. Felia screamed again, and he grabbed hold of her. The entire body twitched violently, but the paroxysm lent her no more power than what she already had. Levantia was stronger, and he pinned her in place. "What is happening? Felia, speak to me."

The Farseer writhed and convulsed, smashing her face into his chest and thrashing the blanket with her feet. She was out of control. Drool was escaping her mouth. The sight of her in such miserable state sent aches to Levantia's heart.

Relius rushed over and pulled down her white ankles. Dividus came next, pounding at them. He and Levantia each held one of her hands to prevent her from hurting herself or anyone else in her spasm.

"We need to do something," Levantia cried desperately.

"What?" asked Relius. "Anyone here who is a doctor, or a psychologist?"

"Argghh!" the Eldar continued her shrilled cry. "It hurts! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!"

"Help me keep her hands down," Levantia said. As Relius did as he was told, he switched position to sitting on the Eldar's abdomen and seized both her pointy ears. Much to his relief, the Felia's expression softened as he fondled them, caressing the smooth skin of her most irritable body part like an owner to his most beloved pet. He would not have known of this interesting fact about the Eldar with their hypersensitive ears if he had not seen the Dark Eldar playing with each other's ears as means of arousing sexual excitement a few times while on board. Such things as intimacy had different meaning for the erotic xenos from humans, or perhaps there were other things they wanted to keep in privacy, and hot sex was not high on the list. Though he doubted her pain would be alleviated this way, it at least gave something else for her brain to receive, something more stirring and less agonizing.

"Felia, look at me," Levantia said, pulling his eyes closer to hers. The seizure was receding. Felia's breathing became slower and her screaming stopped. She was pulling herself together. Her eyes were wet with tears as she looked back. "What is happening? Tell me."

"It's coming," she whimpered. "Isha's tears. "The storm of teeth and claws. The unquenchable hunger. My mind is being torn apart by its sheer presence."

Levantia turned pale. Recalling what he had learned back in Scholar Progenium as well as his previous encounters, he noticed how psykers were prone to this kind of stuff. With a rude awakening, he wondered if she had been possessed by a Daemon. That was absolutely the most morbid thing he could ever imagine: a fate worse than death, an eternity of suffering at the cruel hand of the Daemons that possessed her body and fed on her soul. He wanted to dismiss the thought. The Dark Eldar were also psychically active; they would not have built this ship that travelled in the immaterium without equipping it with shields against Daemon encroachment. Then again, the lack of power on board the Eternity of Torment might have led to decrease in its protection against Warp entities.

The Farseer screamed and shook again. Levantia, Relius and Dividus fought to keep her down.

The klaxon came to life, bombarding the room with blaring noise that drowned out the Farseer's screech. Not a second later, the door opened and the Sybarite responsible for the handling of the overseers appeared.

"Get up you dogs," he barked. "To arms! We are under attack!"

"From whom?" asked Sveltanar, as astonished as Levantia. This did not seem like boarding action against another vessel, more like the contrary. For the Dark Eldar, let alone overseers, to be mobilized for fighting within their ship, the enemy must have already penetrated through and were now inside the ship, something that was all but unheard of. Ravaged by internecine feuds between its crew members but remaining firmly in the Snaketongue's control, the Eternity of Torment had not seen boarding by an external foe for as long as he could tell, as least that was how the Archon boasted.

The Sybarite's face was whiter than usual, and he already looked like he could fit into the circus without any kind of makeup. "The Great Devourer," he said frightfully.

A shockwave of fear swept through the room. Everyone dropped their jaw in complete, abstracted consternation. To Levantia, a part within him felt relieved. That explained a lot about Felia's condition. She was now in the Shadow of the Hive Mind, an overpowering entity capable of drowning out all other connections to the Warp. At least, she would not be possessed by a Daemon.

But then, it would make no difference if they were both eaten alive by the Tyranids.

* * *

_**Author's note: By the time I am writing this story, I have been traumatized by a recently released anime. It is about cute moe girls...in a zombie apocalypse. Wow. My mind got blown away. I honestly did not expect them to take it so seriously.**_

_**I also had an argument with an author in fanfiction. I was there with her for quite a long time, and now our differences in viewpoint destroyed our friendship. I felt insulted by what she said. Needless to say, I will never review a single of her work again. It is to her loss, not mine.**_

_**The story will still be upda**__**ted monthly. This chapter is shorter and slower than others, mainly because I want explain about the characters' background and their motives. Also, it builds up the romance that will inevitably come in the future. Be sure the next chapter will be action-packed, now that an enemy has presented itself.**_


	5. Chapter 5: Friends and foe

_**Addendum 01**__: Recent history of the Kabal of the Shadow Talon._

_The underling rises (102.M42): As the Commorragh reeled from the violent feud between Overlord Asdrubael Vect and Lady Malys, numerous coups and changes in power took place amongst the lesser Kabals, heralding a new generation of leaders, more cunning and savage than ever before. One of these instances was Slavara, an Incubus with a mysterious past, who murdered his own master and anyone who opposed him. Slavara inherited the title Archon and took up control of the Kabal of the Shadow Talon._

_First cut (108.M42): Archon Slavara proved himself one of the most capable commanders of the Commorragh by staging a meticulous attack against the Ork population of Namurk. By perfectly timing strikes and withdrawals, the Dark Eldar made the Orks oblivious to the nature of their enemy and think they were under attack from others of their warring kind. In the end, billions upon billions Greenskins were slain or captured. The planet was thoroughly cleansed so that no further infestation would take place. Losses for the Dark Eldar amounted to less than a thousand._

_The Slave War (111.M42): A splinter warband of the Emperor's Children returned from a raid with fresh loots, only to be ambushed and destroyed by the Kabal of the Shadow Talon. More than a hundred thousand slaves were taken, while all those tainted with the touch of She-Who-Thirsts were mercilessly executed._

_The decapitation (121.M42): What started out as a slight disagreement over a game of chess turned into bitter rivalry between Archon Slavara and Archon Deraiq. A murder duel between the two took place at the Arena of Everlasting Wound. Slavara dispatched his opponent within two minutes and absorbed the defeated Archon's Kabal into his own._

_Years of prosperity (150 – 200.M42): Under the leadership of Archon Slavara, the Kabal of the Shadow Talon achieved one victory after another, from clearing Space Hulks of Genestealer hives to penetrating famous Imperial fortresses to kidnap VIPs. Within a short passage of time, the Kabal rose to become one of the most powerful in the Commorragh. Slavara's enthusiasm in battles earned him great respect from his troops as well as Archons from different Kabals._

_Apex of glory (198.M42): Archon Slavara wished to begin his most ambitious conquest ever yet, but he realized he could not do it alone. Such was his reputation that his call for aid was responded by no less than 6 other Kabals. Together, they attacked Rogarlash, homeworld of the infamous Lords of Ruin, a Chaos Space Marine Chapter known to be obsessed with xenology. The Traitor Astartes and their collaborators fought back fiercely in defense, inflicting heavy losses against the Dark Eldar including the prized Torture Cruiser Isha's Lust. Despite that, the soul thieves ultimately emerged victorious thanks to better coordination and combined-arms tactics. Talos Pain Engine ripped apart daemonic possessed machines while Archon Slavara himself killed and shattered the spirit of a Daemon Prince in single combat. The entirety of the Chapter was wiped out within three bloody months. Prisoners and artifacts from a dozen different alien races were taken as trophies._

_Unexpected tragedy (201.M42): Archon Slavara led his troops to raid on the Imperial world of Festull. All contacts with them were lost as soon as they disembarked from the Webway gate. As soon as the news of their utter annihilation came to Commorragh, Slavara's remaining lieutenants violently turned on one another for overall leadership. With that, the Kabal of the Shadow Talon was shattered._

_A new hope (203.M42): An obscured commander by the name Feharuln united the remnant of the Kabal of the Shadow Talon through methods of diplomacy, earning the title Snaketongue in the process. With the Kabal in tatters following the internecine war, Feharuln swore to live up to his predecessor and restore it to its former glory no matter the cost. And thus it began a series of blackmailing, backstabbing and double-dealing that went much further from the Dark Eldar's standards._

* * *

Felia finally calmed down. The Dark Eldar had given her an injection of some sort. Levantia was not sure if it was just tranquilizer, for such thing seemingly out of place with the Dark Eldar's true purpose to inflict maximum pain upon their victims while prolonging their consciousness as much as possible. Nevertheless, against his doubts, it worked without any visible side-effects, at least not for now, and Felia went into a state of tranquility, her whole body numb and listless.

"Help me," the Felia moaned, her eyes gazing pitifully at Levantia. "Don't let them take me."

Though Levantia's heart throbbed at the sight of her suffering, he could not think of any better way. The Farseer needed to be evacuated, her existence too valuable for the Kabal to lose, too valuable for Levantia to lose, and thrashing and kicking and shouting like a mad woman would only impede the effort. He let the Dark Eldar do their job.

As two Kabalite Warriors half-dragged, half-carried Felia outside, the overseers formed a line waiting for briefing and weapon distribution. Part of what made them suited for the enviable position was their ability to wield firearms and fight in the most desperate situation where their masters could no longer have the situation under control, most being ex-guards, PDF or militarized gangers in hive cities. Despite this common background, none of the overseers had ever attempted to absurd the xenos' authority by pure force. Being well-trained and experienced was one thing, having strong leadership was another, and no one was capable of the latter more than Sveltanar who was steadfastly loyal to the Dark Eldar. Besides, almost every victory the Imperial Guards had pulled off against the Dark Eldar up to this point was because of superior number. Even with half their army dead following the latest raid, the xenos on board still outnumbered the overseers at least five to one.

After finishing making some reports to other groups, the Sybarite in charge of the overseers stepped into the room at brisk pace. Two of his lackeys followed, each carrying a box full of weapons, both range and melee.

"Listen up, you Mon'keigh dogs," he boomed. His voice was tensed, despite his effort in hiding it. From his experience with the Dark Eldar, Levantia found them to be extremely pretentious and deceitful, often giving impressions that they were smarter, braver or more powerful than they actually were. Not all of these were idle boasts, however, and to underestimate them was to dig one's own grave. "I have no desire to beat around the bushes with brainless animals like you, so let's get to the easiest points. The Tyranids are attacking. Your task is to hold them off until reinforcement arrives. Do you _understand_ what I just said? Did I make myself _clear_?"

"Yes, great one," the overseers replied in unison. Despite apprehension, there was genuine excitement amongst them at the opportunity to do something different than working.

As former Tempestus Scion, Levantia wanted to slap himself, his comrades, and the Dark Eldar in the face for that. What was just given could only be described as minimum information. If a Military Tempestus officer were like that, the right to slap him in the face would be given to not only the commissar, but any trooper within earshot. There was nothing about the enemy's strength, the estimated time of the reinforcement's arrival, or even what kind of role would they be playing in this battle.

The Dark Eldar dropped the cache of weapons at the middle of the room and asked the human to take their liberty in allocating them. Under order from Sveltanar, each overseer grabbed himself at least one primary weapon, one pistol and one melee weapon. Unlike their Craftworld counterparts which relied on psychic power to activate, the Dark Eldar's wargear functioned in somewhat the same manner as in the Imperial Guards. Or at the very least, the gun fired when somebody pulled the trigger.

The standard equipment for most overseers included a splinter rifle, a splinter pistol and a ragged combat knife. Levantia was not familiar with any of the weapon, especially the firearms, as this was the first time the Kabal of the Shadow Talon had called upon the overseers for military service as far as he could tell. The others fared no better with theirs. Though each was given two additional magazines, none knew the reloading mechanism. Yet, no one dared to ask the Dark Eldar on how to operate these guns effectively, for the same reason why no one asked them to elaborate more on the mission. Most of the xenos did not understand Low Gothic and the Sybarite, being amongst the few who did, seemed constantly pissed off by the misfortune that he was tasked with the handling of humans. He was always grumpy in front of the overseers and seemed to just want to get it over as quickly and painlessly (at least for him) as possible. The arrival of Felia brought him some level of joy, but that was it. As soon as she was gone, he went back to bear-with-a-sore-head mode.

In addition to basic wargear, Levantia, Relius and an overseer named Dravin were given toxic grenades. These weapons were dangerous to friends as much as foe. As a result, Sveltanar had to stress the importance of having them in the hand of expert throwers. Unsurprisingly, the only splinter cannon in the room went to Bruno who was strong enough to carry it around and fire it on the move.

"We are ready for action, my lord," said Sveltanar as soon as the overseers had finished equipping themselves. "You can count on overseers."

The Sybarite let out a dismissive sigh.

"No, really, you can," Sveltanar insisted.

"Then let's move out," replied the Sybarite. "We have no time to waste."

The mix and match group of twenty-six overseers and thirty-one Dark Eldar made their way to the designated position, led by the Sybarite. They ran across the dark corridor, flashlights and lanterns in all directions. There was no point in hiding in the darkness and expect the Tyranids would miss them somehow. Even an inexperience Guardsman would know the Great Devourers relied on sense of hearing and smell as much as their sights.

Walking through a corridor lined up with grisly trophies of past victories had an encouraging to the Dark Eldar, but was mentally detrimental to the humans. This latter effect was amplified by the lack of light. More than once, Levantia heard his comrades whimper or even shout out when they turned around only to stare at a blank, dead, crucified head. One of the overseers fired, stopping everyone in their track. Levantia and Relius overtook and disarmed the idiot. When it was found that he ran into a Tyranid skull on display, one that would not bite anyone anytime soon, the Dark Eldar let out a hail of jeer and moved on.

"We need some form of strategy," said Dividus to his fellow overseers. If the Dark Eldar overheard the conversation, they would not understand. The only one of them who knew Low Gothic was the Sybarite and he stood at the front, eager to be the first to draw blood and far away from the overseers who struggled to keep up with the pace. "Tactics to increase our chance of survival out here. We can't rely on the xenos. They are obviously not giving a shit to us."

"Any idea?" asked Worrick. A lot of attention was focused on Sveltanar. A former employee of the Adeptus Administratum and wise beyond his age, he was the first people looked upon as a source of guidance whenever they felt in doubt.

"Not a clue," the old man replied plainly. He seemed pretty calm admitting so. "But I know that Levantia and Bruno here used to be pretty high amongst the Astra Militarum. If you want information on the Great Devourers, they are the ones you should be questioning."

The attention shifted to the two of them. Bruno, as expected, was not going to spill anything useful on somebody else's insistence, so Levantia took the point instead. "The Tyranids are powerful and formidable, but they are far from invincible. As a Scion of the Military Tempestus, I have faced them down and beaten them multiple times before." It was always a good idea to start explaining by giving some facts that would uplift the spirit of the men. "They rely heavily on numbers, which is to our advantage here since the narrow corridors could only allow so many of them to move at the same time. But the problem is while vehicles cannot traverse in this tight space, some of their monstrous creatures can squeeze through. From what I can see, neither side is in any obvious advantage here, contrary to what the xenos expect."

"Is there any type of Tyranids we should be particularly concerned about?" asked Relius. "Any target priority?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," Levantia continued. "The Hive Mind cannot meticulously exert its influence on every single underlying without being distracted. So it creates synapse creatures that do the job for it, allowing better control and cohesion. But there lies the weakness. As the Hive Mind is not directly controlling most of the creatures, they will revert to primitive state as soon as there are no synapse creatures in range. In other word, kill the synapse creatures and the swarm will be broken."

"Sounds like a plan," said Sveltanar, grinning. "It's always good to have someone with the right knowledge next to you, especially when the chance of being dismembered or becoming dinner for ravenous beasts is higher than ever." Relius let out a "Hah!" and Bruno simply grunted in acknowledgement.

Dividus, however, was skeptical. "So how do we know which one is a synapse creature and which one is not?"

"Trust me, you will see," Levantia assuaged. "I know how they look like. I will tell you as soon as we see one."

The party came to a sudden halt, humans and Dark Eldar bouncing against one another. Curses were exchanged. Levantia tried to figure if they had reached their destination or something was in the way, but the lack of light and crowded pathway prevented that. Not wanting to take any risk, he readied his weapon for any surprise attack that might occur. The others did the same. The corridor's walls were sturdy enough to prevent the lesser creatures from breaking through, so unless noises that indicated something larger could be heard, Levantia was certain the Tyranids were not pulling out any ambush in this place.

Nothing came. No one said a word. After a minute of standing there, the Sybarite signaled them to move on.

"What was wrong there?" Sveltanar asked, trying to squeeze through to the front.

"Booby traps," the Sybarite explained, holding out a device that looked like a remote control. "I disabled them, for now. Surely even brainless animals like you have some sense of self-preservation, or at least saving your deaths for something more meaningful than falling for the traps of your allies."

The thought of being surrounded by hidden death-dealing contraptions every single day was an unpleasant one, but one Levantia was willing to accept, not that being surrounded by maniacs bent on enslaving all humanity was anything to go by. From his conversations with Darelyn, the Dark Eldar sprang up countless of them all across the Eternity of Torment, partly to repel incursions from outside forces such as right now and partly to protect their own privacy against the curious eyes of their mistrusted comrades. These ranged from being as simple as Kroot traps that ensnared whoever stepped on to super-delicious cake with a poisonous twist that appeared out of nowhere and enticed its victims to take a bite with its charming fragrance. Normally only a tenth of them were active, but that was enough to raise concerns over safety for high-ranking members whose lives were less disposable, much less being stripped away by some insignificant Kabalite members. As a result, all level 3 and above traps (Levantia had no idea how they were classified) had to be reported, identified and able to be disabled through sending a code. On a day to day basis, only the nobles have access to this code. In times of war, this code was available to all group leaders.

Darelyn really gave away too much, Levantia thought. Nevertheless, it was to his benefit that he got to learn so much about how the Dark Eldar society and military function, whether to serve them better or to overturn them and regain freedom something he was still having thoughts about. Of course, he would never mention this to other overseers knowing what could happen if his affair Darelyn were discovered.

The Sybarite urged to move on in both his mother tongue and in Low Gothic for the overseers to understand.

"Advance, you dogs. The more you shit yourselves right here, the more time we waste. If this battle goes by and my blade is not yet stained with the blood of the Tyranids, then your blood will be the candidate."

Ushered by the xeno commander, the overseers made better haste. Not even Bruno was complaining at this point. He, like everyone else, was enthusiastic to see action as much as any Dark Eldar here.

The group stopped three more times for the Sybarite to turn off booby traps. During that time, Relius finally uncovered the way to open the gun's barrel and replace the magazine, a vital piece of knowledge that quickly became universal amongst the overseers. No Tyranids were encountered, but awareness was at all time high. They eventually ran into a mess hall. One of the Dark Eldar tried turning on the light, only to find there was no electricity here. Under the lights provided by lanterns and flashlights, they found something was wrong here.

The tables and chairs were overturned, some bearing claw marks while others were outright shattered by brute force. The floor was covered in a slick layer of slime, ichors to be exact. Signs of some forms of struggle were all over the place, even though the outcome was still ominous. No bodies, Dark Eldar or Tyranids, were seen.

"Get ready," Levantia warned his man as he shouldered his rifle. The group advanced cautiously through the mess hall, weapons raised and ready. The overseers bundled together while the Dark Eldar spread out into patrol formation, one side on the defense, the other restless with bloodlust. "The Tyranids were here. They might still be here. Don't let your guards down."

"Stick together," said Sveltanar. "The last thing we want is to be picked off one by one by those predators. If the Great Devourers come for us, we need a cohesive and intelligent response."

"Just let them come," said Bruno confidently. "Big weapon is tired of waiting. If I am to die here, at least that would be a meaningful death, felled by opponents in battle rather than left to rot in prison cells." Despite animosities towards the big man, Levantia could not help but agree on that statement to some extent. It was always better to die in a blaze than to slowly wither away. Judging from the annoyed expressions displayed by other overseers, this ideology was not widely agreed.

The absolute silence was killing morale. The only sounds were footsteps and droplets of liquid dripping somewhere. The Dark Eldar held their nerves better, but some of their numbers began shaking visibly. One of the overseers even prayed loudly until Sveltanar shut him up with a pat on the back.

Suddenly, another noise could be heard. A plate hit the ground, broken. Every eyes turned towards the source. No sign of any contact was found. It could have been the wind, or the vibration coming from the group as they entered the room, or perhaps it was one the verge of falling for quite some time. So many explanations could have been given, and not all was attributed to the Tyranids.

"It's nothing," said Relius.

"But that is not," said Dividus, pointing up. Levantia and the others looked where he was indicating, their eyes opened wide in horror at what they saw.

Hormagaunts, at least dozen of them, dangling on the ceiling, their claws and talons proving effective hooks to hang on. Levantia had fought the Great Devourers time and time before. He knew this was not the behaviors of savage animals: this was all planned and executed with a strategic mindset. The only issue here was bad luck on their side that they were discovered so soon. The Tyranids assaulted immediately, launching from their positions with incredible agility.

"Holy crap!" exclaimed Corrine. Though he was probably the loudest around here, a number of split-second curses were thrown by both humans and Dark Eldar before cohesion was re-established.

The defenders let lose a volley of tiny shrapnel at the foe. As expected, the Dark Eldar proved to be efficient with their weapons while most of the humans were shooting with Orkish accuracy. Unlike the basic lasguns of the Imperial Guards, the splinter rifles were recoilless and offered much higher rate of fire, for less damage per shot. The sound they made were equivalent to Imperial firearms with silencer. The triggers were placed too far forward to accommodate the Dark Eldar's longer fingers. The unfamiliarity with the wargear combined with lack of clear vision meant most shots by the overseers went in general directions. Levantia considered it a miracle no friendly fire took place.

A number of Tyranids were downed. Rather than dying instantly, they laid flat on the floor convulsing and vomiting foul substances. Levantia was no stranger to the Dark Eldar's art of war. Unlike the armies of the Imperium who emphasized on delivering swift deaths, the soul thieves took pleasure in witnessing the suffering of their enemy even in the thick of the fight. It was this kind of sights that made them feel invigorated, both physically and, as Darelyn mentioned, spiritually.

The Tyranids finally made contact and knocked down three on the charge, two Dark Eldar and one human. The overseers assisted their distressed comrade and wrestled the creature off him before gunning it down. One of the Dark Eldar managed to slit his assailant's throat with a swift knife swing. The other was ripped to pieces in a storm of teeth and claws before anyone could come to his aid.

"Hold your ground," Sveltanar exhorted, his distinctively low voice somehow audible amidst the roaring and screaming. "Form a firing line and cut down those filthy xenos."

As the overseers did as they were told, they were greeted with a hail of return fire consisting of acid and miniscule creatures known as fleshborers. There were some Termagants in the attacking group laying down fire support for their melee compatriots. One of the overseers went down, his face half melted away. Another was knocked off his feet. By the time others reached him, he had already expired. A fleshborer was munching on his torso, oblivious to the raging battle and the horrified eyes that stared at it. Letting out a guttural grunt, Levantia seized the little monstrosity and crushed it in his palm.

"Take cover," Levantia shouted. The overseers immediately dived for protection behind fallen tables and chairs. The Dark Eldar were still out in the open fighting. Levantia was not sure why would they do something so stupid. If he were to guess, they were either overconfident with their superior fighting abilities or they saw that self-preservation made the battle less exciting than it should be. Whichever the case, at least five of their numbers were sprawling on the ground, some of them clearly in no condition to fight; in fact, they were in no condition to live even with their body-modification and live-expanding drugs.

As the fight raged on, Levantia saw that the overseers were falling behind their xeno comrades/masters. Hugging behind cover, they dropped occasional burst of shrapnel at the Tyranids without trying much to aim.

"Push forward," said Levantia, lowering his head behind a decorative statue of a Dark Eldar standing atop a mountain of moaning heads. As much as he wanted his group to take as few losses as possible, the fact any display of cowardice or incompetence could be reported to the Archon himself meant excessive self-preservation might be detrimental in the long run. "Can't go on like this. We need to support the Dark Eldar. They are fighting against a much larger group of Tyranids out there."

"Are you out of your mind?" Corinne retorted. "Did they do something to mess up with your brain that you all of a sudden have this urge to have us all commit suicide?"

"I don't want to say this, but I am with Corinne," said Relius. "What about us? We are already hard-pressed here. Maintaining our asses should take priority. Besides, Dark Eldar are just xenos all the same. What's wrong with having fewer of them?"

"You want negative reports to reach the Archon?" replied Levantia sternly. "You want the Archon himself to skin us alive because of how we underperform in this battle? Nothing here is taken for granted, and the Dark Eldar, obnoxious they might be, are still tolerating us. What will happen if they stop doing so?"

Relius fell silent. Levantia might be less knowledgeable with the disparity between the overseers and the lower-class slaves, but his interactions with the Dark Eldar themselves as well as his observations in countless events gave him a stronger insight on the tender relationship between the Dark Eldar and the so-called upper slaves. Right now, either way, somebody would have to die, and being killed by the Great Devourers in action sounded much more pleasant than tortured to death at the hands of the disgruntled Dark Eldar.

He popped out from his cover to observe the battle only to see two Hormagaunts leapt at him. One was shot down on the move. The other made its charge, but the former Tempestus Scion ducked just in time to avoid a talon strike that would have decapitated him. Combined fire from a dozen human soldiers tore it to shreds. Levantia looked out again and saw the Termagants forming a firing line, hoping to keep the overseers down and suppressed.

"We need a breakthrough," he cried.

Sveltanar nodded. "Bruno, forward," he ordered briskly.

"Out of the way," the big man cried.

Bruno squeezed through the crowd, which was a feat considering how big he and his weapon were coupled with the fact the people in his way were panicking and inert to his command. As soon as making to the front, he unleashed a rain of darts at the Tyranid Termagants. Howling with fury instead of muffled screeches like the lesser guns, the splinter cannon packed a greater rate of fire and accuracy compared to the smaller rifles. At medium range, it alone outgunned the entire Tyranid range army, taking out half a dozen of them in seconds. Much like the Dark Eldar, the Termagants did not bother to take any form of cover; then again, their body portions were not fit to be firing behind obstacles anyway.

"Advance," Levantia gave the order. "For the Archon and Emperor!" It took thirty seconds for it to go through and the overseers to start jumping out of the barricades and into the fray. The sight of Bruno going to town on those Tyranids must have emboldened them somehow, as finally some sense of cohesion and discipline had kicked into them and all of a sudden, the humans were no longer frightful preys. They were warriors no less than the Dark Eldar, hungry for combat and ever-restless to strike a blow against the hated foes. Letting go of fear and uncertainty, they came to realize this was a battle they could win, and they would do everything they could to win it.

The charging Tyranids were blasted apart as they came. Their units shooting at the back fared no better. Despite limited visibility, the overseer formation cleared out a good chunk of the horde once they got the hang of it. Slowly but surely, they were beginning to catch up with the Dark Eldar who seemed disturbingly unconcerned and nonchalant when fighting for their lives. Even as the humans drew closer, the Dark Eldar paid them no heed. Sometimes, Levantia thought it was pointless trying to get anything across with these xenos. They were too haughty to accept any form of help even from their own comrades, let alone members of another race.

A sudden exertion of force caused numerous tables fly across the room, followed by a thunderous bellow. Towering ten feet tall and larger than five Hormagaunts combined, the Warrior made a dash at the overseer group. Levantia was the first to react, as experience told him the importance of killing these creatures. Though his shots found their marks, peeling off carapace plates and impaling into soft skin, they were far from enough to stop the monstrosity.

"Synapse creature," Levantia shouted, hoping for as many people to listen as possible. "Focus fire on this one."

The overseers turned their attention to the new threat, but not soon enough. Three were knocked down by the charge while one was completely trampled. The Warrior was smart. It headed straight for Bruno whom the Hive Mind no doubted pinpointed at the most prominent and dangerous target. Worse still, with the formation broken and the humans disoriented, the melee Tyranids renewed their effort to bore down at their preys. Returning fire still cut down one after another, but nowhere enough to deter them.

Levantia saw a couple of Hormagaunts try to flank him. The Hive Mind must have branded him as a high priority target as well. One of them jumped, but Levantia deflected the blow with his rifle, sending the creature sideways. The second tried to sprint around and hit him in the side. Levantia waited for it before drawing his blade and stabbed it in the eye socket the moment it was within reach. The Tyranid spasm and died quickly. Showing no sign of giving up, the first Hormagaunt ran at him, claws outstretched and fangs born. Levantia met the creature head-on and began a desperate struggle to keep its pointy bits from touching his skin.

Next to him, Bruno brought up his weapon, but the Warrior was upon him. With a slash of its scything talon, the Tyranid not only knocked away splinter cannon but down its user. As it pounded on Bruno to finish the job, it suddenly stopped. Even with his mind racing to figure out a way to defend himself from the Hormagaunt he was left to deal with, Levantia could still not believe what he just saw. Holding the each talon in his hands, Bruno was keeping it at bay. Levantia always knew they big man was strong, but him having the strength equal to that of a Space Marine had never crossed his mind. With a powerful push, he managed to send the Warrior reeling.

"Kill it," Sveltanar directed. As soon as the prospect of hitting one of their own was no longer, the remaining overseers who were not locked in combat unloaded a volley at the Warrior. It took a lot of fire to do that, including full a magazine for some, but the synapse creature finally went down. Like others, it twitched and spat madly from the poison as it died.

Suddenly, the lesser Tyranids had no one to control them. Like ants without their queen, they fled into the darkness. Under orders from Levantia and Sveltanar, the overseers regrouped and tended their wounds. Such was the ferocity of the attack that most victims were killed outright. Only two were injured, and neither of them had anything serious, just tripping on random stuffs in the dark and getting themselves hurt. The Dark Eldar did the same thing as they ran out of foe to kill. It seemed another Warrior had been dispatched by them as well. All in all, seven humans and nine Dark Eldar lost their lives, a feat for the xenos considering most of them were fighting outside cover and had to face even greater odds than the humans. Tyranid losses were about fifty, including two Warriors.

For once, Levantia was glad it was over, for the Hormagaunt was only an inch from biting his face off. On the other hand, hunting down and eliminating these lurking monstrosities could take days, even weeks pending on how many on both sides survived the battle, presumable the Dark Eldar were the one emerging victorious. Levantia perished the thought. There was no need to over-think. This victory achieved here would be no doubt a boost in morale. If he and his comrades were to make it out of here alive, every little win counted.

Small and of yet to known significance, this victory was merely an appetite for what was to come. More battles would be fought before the Tyranids, or everyone else, were wiped out, and Levantia knew the overseers welcomed it with a passion. For so long they were oppressed, so long they had to live like caged animals, so long their desires had to be compressed. This was freedom. War was the only freedom. Anyone saying otherwise would be ignorant.

"Get up. Get up, you dirty Mon'keigh," hollered the Sybarite. Out of all the Dark Eldar, he was the most thoroughly covered in blood, Tyranid blood that was. As much as he was annoyed by his masters' abhorrent attitude, Levantia felt a modicum of reverence for the xenos being splendid warriors. Outnumbered and outmatched, the Dark Eldar somehow always managed to find a way around the foe and hit them where it hurt the most. This battle was testament to that. "We are falling behind schedule here. Any minute late and the Archon will have our hide."

"What a slimeball," Bruno commented, this time lowering his voice so that the Sybarite could not hear. "Any commander who gives no other order than to keep on moving deserves some treatment from the commissar."

"Yeah," agreed Relius. "Totally. However, back in the Astra Militarum, I have seen worst, so this is hardly a new experience for me. Horrible commanders like that are simply everywhere in this galaxy, leading their men to untimely and unnecessary deaths."

"Up and move on," the Sybarite went on, even though he looked too tired himself to get physical with the lethargic humans. "No time for you sloths to be shitting yourselves, when there are still Tyranids out there to fight."

"He is right," said Sveltanar, addressing other overseers. "We should head to the next warzone immediately. If this ship is blown up, everyone will die."

"No time to lose, then," Levantia concurred. If there was anything in the last battle he thought could have improved was the lack of support and coordination between the overseers and the Dark Eldar. Granted, they both had different strategies and combat styles, but not much so when taking into account the diverse backgrounds which Imperial Guard regiments were hailed from. This was as good a place for joint operation tactics as any other warzone out there, but it, in the end, did not happen. The overseers were still afraid of the powers that be and the Dark Eldar were too arrogant to admit they needed help. As a result, both sides suffered more casualties when it should have been a clean sweep against a small pocket of Tyranids. Levantia wanted to discuss the issue, but there was no time, and chances were whatever he brought up would ultimately fall to deaf ears of both the conservative overseers and the presumptuous xenos. Levantia's "positive" relationship with Darelyn was a slight exception. Now, the more he thought about it and what could have happened if it did not exist, the more he cherished it.

Bigotry was still rampant. Bigotry led to more deaths and less efficiency. One human and one Dark Eldar made no difference to the rest.

Only time would tell if the two races could get along on board this ship, or if they became water and oil and started working against each other.

If only they could be true allies.

* * *

_**Author's note: Finally we get to some action. As I said before, this story is more on the drama aspect and will feel slower than my other works. This chapter features one of the oddest combinations ever: humans and Dark Eldar fighting together and neither are planning to betray the other.**_

_**This chapter also features the first of many addendums where more about the lore (completely parts of my fandom) would be explained. This kind of information is similar to what you expect to find in a Codex. I hope the audience to have a wider scope and know better about characters and factions' history and their motivations.**_


	6. Chapter 6: Lost

Levantia did not mind cramped spaces. In fact, it brought back memories; they were far from good ones, but nostalgia-inducing nevertheless. During his childhood, the shack he and his mother lived in was only three times the size of a doghouse and yet, it had both a kitchen and a bathroom (sleeping in the kitchen was warmer and more comfortable than the bathroom). It could be said that they grew closer to one another living in a place like that. What really got on his nerves this time, however, was being squeezed in an enclosed space, having his face unwillingly strapped against Bruno's armpit and unable to get away from its baleful aurora that would have terrified even an Ork. Every moment he spent in the elevator where nineteen humans and twenty one Dark Eldar were cramped together was a moment he cursed upon. Not even Crox's chamber was this bad.

"Arhh whe ere iet?" asked Levantia with voice muffled by the insurmountable amount of meat and body fat he was now in an unenviable position with.

"He said 'Are we there yet?," translated Bruno. Levantia could swear he could read the movement his lips with his muscle. A man with a sensitive body he was, if only his heart was not as hard as a stone and as dry as a grain of sand. "Which, by the way, is something I am wondering myself."

"Be patient," said Sveltanar who was sandwiched between Relius and a Dark Eldar warrior. "We'll get there soon enough. As the saying goes, all will come to he who waits."

"Such a stupid saying," the Sybarite chimed in. Like everyone else, he was not in anywhere a position to move any part of his body apart from his lips freely. The sight of a self-important bastard being in a place where he was no longer in control was pleasant to Levantia. "No wonder why your wretched civilization has not been advancing for ten thousand years. Then again, what was I expecting from such lazy, pathetic species in the first place?"

The Dark Eldar's offensive comment did not gather any reply. All the overseers were used to that by now. That was one of the required characteristics to gain that rank: high level of tolerance and obedience.

"Can't we just wait for two trips or something?" Relius asked while struggling to keep another overseer's bottom from being too close to his face. "This is overkill."

The elevator was definitely not designed to transport large number of troops. In fact, it was no larger than the ones used for eleven people on an Imperial ship. The destination they were heading for was the main cargo bay where the majority of the Tyranids were converging to take advantage of its open ground. Travelling by foot would take too long and any route leading to elevators with better capacity were blocked by Tyranid corpses who succumbed to the plethora of booby traps laid all over the Eternity of Torment. This elevator was their only option at this point and since the Dark Eldar had no concern for health and safety regulations, something like this was completely acceptable even in less intense situations.

Not that anybody was especially happy to ride along members of another species in such cramped state where body contact was all but unavoidable. Nevertheless, thanks to careful planning by Sveltanar, which caught many of the Dark Eldar by surprise, they managed to cramp all the humans on one side and all the xenos on the other, leaving just enough room for the spiky bits on the Dark Eldar armor to not cause any injuries on the humans who had little to no protection against physical harm whatsoever. The thick clothes distributed kept the overseers warm, but were poorly maintained and prone to be ripped and torn at the slightest presence of something sharp.

"I can't say I find this trip cozy and all," Sveltanar admitted. "There are worse to come out there. You all had better be prepared to face it right after this. If this is sapping your morale, close your eyes, forget where you are right now and imagine you are in a large house with a warm rug beneath your feet."

"I will try, then," Relius sighed. "That house had better have a hot bath as well."

"Nice bedroom and sofas," an overseer added.

"And two stacks of sexy babes in bikinis," Bruno boomed. A hail of laughter erupted from the overseers except Levantia whose face was still stuck under Bruno's armpit.

"That's the spirit, men," said Sveltanar. "I know this situation may seem a bit exaggerated, but sticking together is our only chance of survival at this point. We have made it through the test where only one in a hundred is chosen. We have carried on for three months without any act of cannibalism committed. This is just another challenge, and with determination and strength, we will prevail, for the Archon and the Emperor watch over us."

The whole situation for Levantia was just ridiculous. If the immobility was not bad enough, the rancid odor made the experience a whole new level of nightmare, and that was saying a lot when taking into consideration how long he had been living on a Dark Eldar ship as their prisoner. Levantia told himself to calm down. For the very least, the wall he was pressed into felt awkwardly warm and familiar, almost like his mother's embrace. When he realized it was indeed covered in preserved human skin, he immediately regretted making such awful comparison.

"Broona, yuu arh a fat asterd and yuu mells yike a cow," Levantia muttered. He was too angry and frustrated at this point. He needed to spill out something or his gut would implode.

"He said, 'Bruno, you are awesome and the most handsome person I have seen'," Bruno translated.

"Uuck yuu!"

"I love you too, Levantia, but homosexual relationships aren't allowed where I came from. Not sure about you, though."

The elevator suddenly halted. The induced tremble saw some changes in positions and posture of the people inside, most notably one of the Dark Eldar being flipped upside down, landing on his face into somebody's bottom, and Levantia finally snapping out of Bruno's armpit. The first thing his nose caught was the pungent smell of chemical used to preserve the skin used to cover the walls of the elevator.

Still a lot better than underarm odor.

"Fresh air, at last," cheered Levantia. "Next time we are in this kind of tight spot, I am going to have your face hard-pressed into my ass. Let's see how you like that."

"Silent," Sveltanar hushed. He turned to address the Dark Eldar Sybarite. "Are we at the destination yet?"

"No," replied the xeno bluntly. "Power's out. This section of the ship is out of order. We need to travel on foot from now on."

* * *

It took ten minutes for the disembarkation to complete. At first, both the humans and the Dark Eldar raced outside as soon as the door opened, and ended up getting into each other's way, resulting in neither moving an inch. Under Sveltanar coordination, they hurled whatever wargear they could outside, no one in any position to use them in such condition, before began squeezing themselves out one after another just like solving a puzzle. The ones free from the mess would then take up the discarded weapon to cover while the rest continued their arduous work. Once quite a few were released, the tightness of the space declined and everyone could then move outside without any difficulty.

"Where are we going now?" asked Sveltanar.

"That way," pointed the Sybarite to the left corridor. The way he was able to navigate the area so quickly even when the elevator did not drop him at the desired location could mean one of the two things, either he knew the twists and turns of this ship like the back of his hand or he was going blind and too arrogant to admit his lack of knowledge. Judging by how even the toughest ratings of the Imperial Navy who grew up in the void hardly knew all the places in their ship due to its sheer size (the Eternity of Torment was roughly as large as an Avenger-class Cruiser) and the Dark Eldar did not seem much more intelligent than an average human being, the latter seemed more likely.

"I doubt him," Levantia whispered to Sveltanar, making sure the Sybarite did not overhear.

"How do you know?" asked the old man incredulously. "You have never been here, have you?"

"No I have not," Levantia admitted. "But I can be sure when someone is telling the truth or not. It's part of my training when I became Tempestus Scion, to make sure the lies of Chaos do not pervade my mind and influence it so that we can overcome what even the overzealous Astartes cannot. As far as I can tell, he is in doubt of himself, but refuses to acknowledge that."

"I guess you are right," the old man sighed deeply. "Keep it to the two of us and don't tell anyone about this. If the truth is out, morale will suffer."

"They deserve to know what they are in for," Levantia disputed. "We can't just let them ignorantly head to their doom like that."

"And you think knowing the truth will improve their chance of surviving?" asked Sveltanar sternly. His iron gaze sent a shiver down on Levantia's spine. "Your education emphasizes the integrity of the warriors, that I have no disapproval against, but the one I received puts everyone as normal, average, generic humans and from its perspective, the truth is not always the best way to go with. Such is the complexity of the human being. We may spend out entire life pursuing the truth, but despair the moment it is right in front of us."

Levantia grudgingly agreed. Where animals fought with the most vigorous ferocity when being cornered and left with little chance of surviving, human behaviors ranged from the doing same to desponding to abandoning the field altogether. Since none of the other overseers had been trained by the Military Tempestus, applying Scion logic with them could very much prove to be counter-productive, as their minds were not sharpened to cope with its bewildering complexities. So far, the overseers kept in line because they believed their fate would be more lenient should they follow whatever the Dark Eldar command them. Now, upon realizing they were potentially going into a slaughterhouse as pigs, some might grow restless and even try his chance against their comrades and the xenos masters.

Sometimes, ignorance was truly bliss.

Remaining silent with the hope that he was wrong and the Sybarite truly did know where they were going, Levantia and the group continued their journey on foot, once again pacing across the narrow corridor whose walls were adorned with grisly trophies. Though the overall pattern had not changed, the formation had more purpose this time than when they first got out of the cell. The Dark Eldar moved at the front, scouting for dangers in the form of both the Tyranids and booby traps laying around, while the overseers advanced cautiously covering at the rear. The initial contact had prompted both sides to be more aware and watchful, and inevitably, their precautions proved mutual to one another.

A good sign to the cooperation to come.

"So, what is going on between you and her?" Dividus raised the question as the group advanced through a massive chamber where toxic containers were held. For all their shortsightedness, for the very least, the Dark Eldar had the decency and fund to create secured lids to prevent any fume from coming out, thus making the chamber relatively safe to enter. Additionally, they even took all the bothering of lining up the barrels into rows and columns, keeping a distance of about a meter between each, for better categorization as well as security. Levantia had fought in toxic environments on numerous occasions where all safety procedures were all but ignored even before the fighting started, ranging from Chaos weapon manufactorum to Ork "speshul leequid" storages, and even some Imperial bio-chemical research facilities. Poisons were the most common, if not the only, public goods produced by the Dark Eldar, one that no one could be allowed to monopolize, not the Haemonculi that formulated and brew them and not even the all mighty Archon. Such was the importance it had attained that without it, the Dark Eldar's military, if not their entire treacherous society, would fall apart like a cheap suit.

"Who?" Levantia frowned.

"The Eldar, of course," said Dividus. "What is it in her you find so attractive?"

"I don't understand what you are talking about."

"Don't play dumb with me. We all know that you are closer to her than anyone of us can be. Apart from you, who talk to her, feed her, cuddle her when she's asleep? Why are you so attached to her like that?"

Levantia shrugged. "She was having a tough time. I have witnessed enough miseries here, both of my own and of others. I could not stand watching her tear her soul apart when she really should not like that. Why are you asking this? As far as I can remember, you all said you forgave her yourselves?"

"We did," Dividus conceded. "But without you and your many attempts to console her, none of us would have thought of that. We were doing it for your sake more than her."

"Why are you having a problem with this?" Levantia pressed. Out of all the overseers, Dividus was the most serious type, a pragmatic man wore a bleak outlook on the future and who always stayed outside banters, taking great pride in the position he was in and encouraging others to feel the same. Levantia's last conversation with him during the supervision of lower-class slaves had revealed he had a more sinister side, one which went beyond the concept of elitism and simple discrimination. Thinking back, Levantia could not help but find that sinister side existing in each and every overseer on board the Eternity of Torment, truly a dreadful fact to face.

"She is not one of ours," Dividus replied. "Open your eyes and look for yourself. They did not put her in the same place as us because she is going to be working like the rest of us, nor because she is going to help us do our jobs more effectively in any way. You and I, we belong to the same group, not her. She is not even our species."

"So she is a xeno and that makes you feel uneasy?" Levantia barked, clenching his weapons so hard he thought they might break. "I don't want to mouth off against anyone on this, but you should realize by now where in hell we are and the fact we have another alien in our life matters as much as having another grain of sand in the beach. Answer me this, if she did not have pointy ears and were just an ordinary human in distress, would you do anything within your power to help her?"

"That depends on what kind of power is in my possession," replied Relius. "We are overseers now, and there is a good reason for that. Look at every other human on board and you will see how much they envy our position, how much they would be willing to give up to reach our level. And yet, we are still nothing but playthings for our masters who can decide our fate on a whim. If they ever change their mind because we change our behaviors, we could all be in trouble."

"Sveltanar never voices his disapproval over this. Why should I be listening to whatever you have to say? Or unless you have something to doubt in him."

"Him being the best chance of us not getting horrible murdered, no," Dividus countered. "His integrity, yes. Sveltanar had always been like that, never telling the truth if he knows it would mean sacrificing someone. We look at him for guidance, but our judgment must be based on what is real and visible, not what you fantasize it to be and what he just plays along since you can be happier that way."

Levantia's blood ran cold. Earlier, Sveltanar told him not to reveal the truth to the others about them not heading to the destination they wanted for the sake of maintaining morale. At that time, Levantia did not think much about it and saw a wise move as usual, but now, putting twos and twos together, there might have been some implications regarding his method that made him feel disturbed. Was he really bluffing all this time when Levantia grew his relationship with Felia? Did he and the others forgive the Farseer for what she did because it was the only way to save him from going insane? What was the length he would go to keep the overseers together without going bodily and mentally deteriorated?

"So are you saying that I should stop talking to her altogether?" asked Levantia. He did not want to think about the tradeoffs at this point. Cutting his ties with the Eldar meant a death sentence for her, but continuing their relationship could mean damnation for both.

For the very least, they were damned together, and Felia would not feel so lonely.

"No," Dividus shook his head slowly. "I am saying you should know your place, just as I know mine, and act like someone who is down to earth, not a lovesick idiot. To be honest, I would like seeing your relationship with her blossom, but such a thing, in this dark place, is not going to last. The more heart you put into it, the more disappointment you will end up with, that's the way things are here."

"Then maybe it is time for a change," said Levantia. "She is the anchor that retains the last of my humanity, and I will do whatever it takes to protect her. Whether you like it or not, she is my last source of hope now. I cannot just let her go."The words made his heart ache. How could he say so and still allow Felia to be taken away right in front of him like that without expressing any form of resistance? Now Emperor knew when they were going to see each other again, if they ever stood a chance.

"Hope," Dividus repeated. "Such a beautiful word isn't it?"

The conversation left Levantia with a sour taste in his mouth. Dividus spent more time than he did on board the Eternity of Torment, originally a lower-class slave but through unknown circumstances making it to the upper category of the food chain. Having been through hell and worse during his period as a punching bag for both xenos and human defectors, his thoughts were gloomier than the rest. Where Sveltanar greeted him with open arms on the first day he joined the rank of the overseers, others gave him cold shoulder, knowing what he did must have been terrible enough the Dark Eldar would provide such privilege so out of place with the natural process of selection, and he never cared. Eventually, their differences were overcome and Dividus was a pariah no more, but given how little Levantia knew about Sveltanar and his mind games to keep morale artificially high through means of deception, that might not be entirely true.

Yet, for all his denial and self-vindication, Levantia could not push the fact from his mind that Dividus had a point, as hard as it was to swallow.

Levantia snapped out of it. What was he thinking? Now was not the time to mull over such immaterial things, not his fragile bond with Felia, not the Dark Eldar's ultimate goal with her, not the fact his comrades might have been much less accepting than he thought they were, not when there were Tyranids running around and all his attention must be focused on them instead.

The journey became too long. No Tyranids were found, not even dead bodies, even though the walls and floors showed fresh pools of blood as well as signs of struggles taking place. Despite the Sybarite's assurance, everyone was getting restless at this point. They wanted to have a fight, they wanted blood, they did not want to wander around aimlessly in the dark like this.

"How long are we supposed to be walking before the Tyranids show up?" asked Bruno impatiently, holding the splinter canon with one hand and scratching his coat frantically with the other. "Fucking tired of this pointless charade. This big gun is not light to carry, you know. The corridors are dark and I can't see shit. And most of all, this fucking piece of fur is making me go crazy. I think there are fleas in it."

"If you make enough noise, the Tyranids might come," said Relius. "That is if they don't smell you from miles away first. By the way, none of us has any insect problem with our winter costumes. Are you sure it isn't your lack of hygiene that makes you the most obvious place for them to nest?"

"See, even Relius agree with me," Levantia chimed in excitedly. "Your body stench is going to be the death of us all if the xenos don't get to that first. We are allowed to take a bath once every month. I don't remember seeing you anywhere."

"I had better things to do than squeezing myself into a twenty-meter square room with twenty six other men," Bruno snorted.

"Why?" Levantia said sharply. "Because you are too large you couldn't fit into the room with the rest of us? Or is it because you regiment was strict about the homosexual relationship and you couldn't bring yourself to be in the same space as other naked men?"

"Said the one who monopolizes all the women around here," Bruno hissed, face blotching red. "I have not socialized with any person of the opposite sex for years now. If I smell like something stuck between an Ork's toes, then that's partly your fault for being such a lady's man."

"You do have a point there," said Relius.

"Whose side are you on, Relius?" Levantia exclaimed. He stared at Bruno viciously. "There are some females among the xenos right in front of us now, do you want to make out with them, then? Or are you too afraid they would bite off your tongue the moment you try to talk to them? The Eldar woman that was with us, you can't expect me to watch her waste away her life miserably when there is still a chance for change. She deserves better. We all do. And it's not like you ever made any effort to befriend with her or anything like that. The only reason…"

"You three, knock it off," Sveltanar hushed at them. "Right now."

The group had come to a halt, overseers catching up with Dark Eldar without bumping into each other this time. The xenos were wary of something - something which the humans could not perceive with their inferior senses. Without specialized wargear of the Militarum Tempestus to augment detection which included night vision goggles, audio filtration device and auspex scan, Levantia felt exposed and vulnerable to the unknown more than he would have accepted.

No sign of an attack. Not movement detected, nor projectile identified. Not even a single sound. The area was open and large, leaving no room for an ambush, and the toxic containers were laid out in a manner not even Lictors and Genestealers could move around without causing suspicion, probably a mechanism to prevent someone from trying to thieve the greatest treasure of the Dark Eldar race right under the nose of their comrades. As far as Levantia's eyes told him, the containers were silent, immobile and well-sealed. Besides, if there were indeed Tyranids hiding between or behind them, the xenos who had more acute senses would definitely have noticed. In this case, they all seemed apprehensive for some odd reason, muttering loudly while pointing guns rather disorganized at all directions as if facing an invisible foe.

"You hear that?" asked Sveltanar, listening.

"What is it?" asked Levantia. Then, he heard it too. The clanging of metal, hundreds of thumping in a rapid manner, followed by what seemed to be tiny screeches. The Tyranids were nearby, coming closer and closer by the way the sounds became more audible and now even the humans began to be alerted.

But where were they?

The sound indicated a horde of creatures. Such many could not hide from sight in any certain term, especially not in the chamber they were in where the obstacles where small and widely disperse. It could not have been the lower deck either, as the floors on spaceships tended to be very thick to accommodate a multitude of wires and pipes, the blood vein of the vessel, and for obvious safety reasons to minimize the effect felt by each level when there was a turbulence, which not even the Eternity of Torment was an exception.

Or could it?

Levantia dropped down and pressed his ears onto the cold floor. If the chemical had infected it, it was not visible, so he took his chance. Sure enough, his fear was realized.

"Raveners attack! Everybody spread out!" Levantia shouted out. The overseers were momentarily confused, but followed once they gathered their wits. Though not all of the realized what Levantia meant, it had become common knowledge amongst them that a moment of hesitation could spell the difference between life and death, whether it was following the xenos' orders or fighting an enemy. The Dark Eldar looked dumbstruck, unable to understand Low Gothic except for the Sybarite whose faced seemed drained of blood. If he ever managed to utter anything, it was drowned by the thunderous noise as the floor burst apart right underneath them.

The Dark Eldar had been too bunched up when the assault came. The first strike sent more than half of them flying, crashing into chemical barrels with resounding thuds and knocked the rest off their feet. As Levantia saw, the Ravener that emerged from the hole was one no doubt specifically bred to penetrate the metal walls of the ship, armed with small, short-ranged acid-spitters attached to two gigantic claws. Another Ravener of the same wrought smashed through the floor with violent eruptions, causing further confusion and panicking among both the humans and Dark Eldar. In their wake came others of their kin which specialized more in terms of close combat, equipped with three pairs of rending talons each. None of them seemed to possess any form of a range weapon, which made sense because they would be dangling on the ceiling and devourer living ammunitions were quite heavy.

"Do not shirk," Sveltanar shouted. "Hold your ground and destroy these monstrosities."

The Raveners' attack was brutal. They moved quickly on their snake-like lower body, cutting through light armor and flesh with ease thanks to their rending talons. Even if they did not score a kill, whether just inflicting injuries or being dodged altogether, the Raveners did not stop to finish off their victims and just carried on instead. That way, they would be able to avoid retaliation as well as preventing any opponent from regrouping or respite.

A dozen overseers and Dark Eldar were killed in the first minute of the assault, and more that number were badly wounded including Bruno who received a deep cut on his right shoulder which still did not deter him from carrying the oversized gun. The Tyranids' advantage quickly wore off, however, as their foe began to adapt to their strategies and counter them very well. It took some time for the allied force to recover, but once they did, the situation immediately shifted towards a more balanced point. The Dark Eldar performed short sprints and dashes to evade their assailants who found themselves outpaced, taking pot shots whenever possible, while the overseers took on a more defensive approach by backing next to a wall covering each other and shooting at any approaching target. While neither side was explicitly cooperating, their combined efforts prevented the Tyranids from inflicting more losses.

The Raveners were created to swiftly eliminate unprepared targets before they gathered their wits, not for prolonged head-to-head combat against a desperate, stubborn foe. Though their large size game them additional resilience compared to some of the lesser Tyranids, it also made them easier to hit and Raveners' hides were largely unprotected and where the chitin carapace did apply it was only as thick as flak armor. Four creatures dropped dead convulsing as the poison seeped through and two more were limping from the infected wounds.

Then Relius died. That cowardly bastard Corinna ran out of bullets after shooting more while aiming less than he should have. Two Raveners saw an opening and made a beeline to him. Instead of pulling out his knife to defend himself or at least shouting warnings to others, he froze on the spot standing like a statue, his fingers still uselessly pulling the trigger of guy that had caught dry. Relius pushed him out of the way when the first Ravener came. The rending talons sliced him in five distinct pieces, but not before his knife rammed into the creature's eye slit. Howling in agony, the Ravener thrashed around until concentrated fire from the overseers brought it down. Its companion was finished off by Bruno who fired at it no less than a hundred times with his splinter cannon.

Relius's death made Levantia felt empty inside. Though on the outside he appeared a happy-go-lucky idiot, Levantia had seen his inner person, a stout soul that never allowed itself to despair no matter how grim the situation was. With the exception of Sveltanar, Relius was the closest to Levantia, someone he was proud to call a friend. After all the hopes and promises, after all the friendship and bonding, after having survived the Dark Eldar's tyranny together, they were now apart.

Perhaps not for long. Levantia was certain he had as much chance of getting out of this alive as he next person here, safe for Sveltanar who everybody put an effort to protect. More fighting would definitely come. These skirmishes affected little to the overall war, so no matter how great the victories were, they were mere sand in the ocean. The real battle was far from decided, not even close.

As the Tyranids began losing ground, one of them, sent to hysteria by poison, traversed madly and ran into toxic barrels one after another. Such was the strength of its rending claws that the containers were hacked open, their contents of all sorts of color, red, blue, yellow and green, spilling out at alarming speed. The Ravener assault had weakened the floor of the chamber significantly and now it could no longer handle the corrosive effect from the chemical.

The Dark Eldar did not need any warning this time and fled before the floor disappeared under their feet. The overseers, on the other hand, were more lethargic and indecisive as to whether it was a good idea to leave their formation while the Tyranids were still around.

"Get away," Sveltanar shouted as the floor beneath got eaten away into a rapidly expanding hole. "Move to safe positions, now!"

The overseers broke from the gunline and ran away from the spillage. Most of them made it out to the safe zone no problem, but to Levantia's bewilderment, Bruno was falling behind unwilling to discard his heavy weapon. To make the matter worse, his injury was beginning to take a toll on his stamina.

"Bruno, come on," Levantia urged. "It's not worth risking your life for that gun. Leave it."

"Can't make it out of here alive without this," Bruno replied, still running at relatively slow speed compared to the rest. "Those bugs will tear us all apart if we don't have any decent firepower to stop them."

Levantia hated to argue. Bruno was, in a sense, correct, for he had accounted for at least a third number of kills made by the overseers so far. Losing such potent weapon might spell doom in the future. Without further words, he sprinted behind Bruno and pushed him forward with all his might. If the odious odor was still there, Levantia failed to notice over the nose-burning chemical spilled and corroded metal everywhere.

It took every ounce of his strength to bring the six hundred pounds of meat, cheap fur and whatever xenos material used to make that gun to speed, but the result was satisfying, at least at first. Just when he thought they were going to pull through, the floor became slipper thanks to the amount of Tyranid blood spilled earlier. A large person with a large weapon, Bruno was mostly unaffected. Lighter in terms of both man and wargear, Levantia felt his feet moving against his will trailing uncontrollably on the floor. Despite his ability to maintain balance, he was losing speed rapidly and was now the one in jeopardy.

At the last moment where the toxin ceased to melt the floor, Levantia was unable to outrun it and fell in. Tossed away his splinter cannon sideways, Bruno pounded at the edge of the pit and reached out for him. Levantia held his hand forward in kind. They touched one another for a split second, but neither could hold on.

They were a millimeter apart from having a firm grasp, one that would allow Bruno to pull his comrade up with his extraordinary strength.

A millimeter.

Unfortunately, in this case, that made all the difference.

Flailing against the air, Levantia screamed at the top of his lung as he descended into the darkness. His life, his friends and the Eldar he bonded with flashed vividly before his eyes. And then there was nothing.

"Noooooooooooooooooooooo!"

"Levantia!"

* * *

_**Author's note: Sorry for the long update interval. Hope I can speed up my writing without ruining without too much trouble next time. Hope you enjoy.**_


	7. Chapter 7: Reunion

Levantia had no idea how long he had been unconscious and how long he had been staring blankly into the darkness; there seemed to be hardly any difference whatsoever. For a while, he pondered upon himself whether he had finally perished and this was the Warp where all the souls travelled to once they shook off their mortal core. To be honest, he was expecting either a grander place lit up by millions of candles in which the Emperor welcomed his fallen servants, which ironically he was not anymore, or some burning pit of misery belonging to one of the Dark Gods. Any of the two might have been a better alternative to the Eternity of Torment. For the very least, he did not have to worry about physical abuse there. Instead, he found nothing.

Nothing.

It took Levantia a while to realize he could still move. It took him a bit longer to come to term with the fact he had somehow survived despite the fall. Not only that, he was uninjured and had made a safe landing. Beneath him was something oddly soft, warm and "fleshy". The smell was quite disgusting as always, but compared to Bruno's armpit in the elevator, this was lighter. Levantia scrambled around for a few seconds before his hand came in contact with something hard, something that made his exposed fingers feel cold. Not taking any chances, he examined it further until realizing it was his very splinter carbine.

Sighing in relief, Levantia picked it up and activated the lantern attached to it. This additional feature was added due to power outage, a feature not adopted by the Dark Eldar due to their already adept night vision, and had proven helpful to the overseers so far. While it was clear the xenos allowed this modification on ground that it would attract (or distract) the Tyranids to the humans, no one could ever complain about it.

As the light was turned on, Levantia scanned around, only to find himself literally standing in the middle of nowhere. For a second, his thought reverted back to wondering if he was truly dead or not, but then no way his wargear could have travelled with him to the other side like that; the xenos technology had no Machine Spirit. This was just a very large chamber that the Dark Eldar used to….

With a clench in his stomach, Levantia now knew how in the world he could have escaped from the drop unscathed despite it being at least a hundred meter judging from the distance between the unseen ceiling and where he stood. The reason he had been able to land safely was because of the piles of corpses, mountains of corpses even, that filled the chamber. Only less than half of them were humans, the rest mostly Orks and Tau, races that did not make good labor slaves with the former too stubborn and the latter too meek. If there was any Eldar in there, he could not distinct them from humans. There was no obvious sign of decomposition on the bodies even though they must have been here for quite a while already given the Kabal latest raid did not bring in anymore fresh meat. What surprised Levantia even more was the fact the Tyranids had ignored this biomass heaven altogether. If such a place existed on the ship, he would expect it to be thronged by swarms of hungry, bloated Rippers.

Levantia eventually got up. The terrain was uneven but he could manage. Taking a closer look under the dim light, he noticed the skins of the bodies were extremely pale by comparison to what they were in life, the color of blue and green notwithstanding. The smell was not of decay, but of chemicals. Some of the bodies had been liquefied, mostly, by the toxin spillage coming from above, but that only accounted for a fraction of them. To his guess, the bodies must have treated to make sure they remain fresh for a long time, which made sense considering bones and ashes were worth less than blood and meat in the Dark Eldar informal markets, as well as to prevent the Tyranids from consuming them and gain easy material. But why do they need to stack up so many bodies in one place like this? This did not seem to be somewhere the Dark Eldar would frequently visit to extract the bounties.

Looking further, Levantia could make out large machineries at the corner and what seemed to be conveyor belts feeding into them. His blood ran cold at the dark revelation. There was no mistaking on it. This chamber was used to hack apart, grind down, melt and process corpses into products he did not want to imagine, products that would then be consumed somehow by the Dark Eldar. No wonder it was placed directly beneath the chemical storage; it must have required a lot of the stuffs to process all these bodies.

This was not the first time Levantia had seen such macabre industry, yet the sight made him sickened nevertheless. While fighting the Iron Warriors Chaos Space Marines on the daemonic Forge World Gelloath, he had been witness to how the traitors could hold in for months of encirclement even when all food sources had been cut. They were feeding corpses of their fallen, soldiers and workers alike, into these similar machines to produce what was equivalent to the Astra Militarum standard protein bar. Not even the Astartes were safe. Without the Apothecarium to lend them the skills and expertise in treating gene-seeds, the traitor Space Marines simply dropped their slain comrades into conveyor belts that would lead them to where they were pitilessly grinded down and had their genetic materials forcefully removed from them. This method increased the rate of recruitment, but led to degeneration that caused higher rate of abnormalities down the line as new initiates had to make do with gradually tainted gene-seeds. Yet, the Iron Warriors showed no care and replaced mutations with bionics whenever and wherever possible.

Gelloath was long gone, a dead world now, blasted from orbits, its inhabitants killed either by the vengeful guns of the Astra Militarum or the cyclone missiles barrage following extraction of all attack groups who had successfully recovered uncorrupted STC schematics. Where what happened in that incident further his conviction and hatred against the enemy, the knowledge of such depravity his current masters had been engaging all this time made Levantia's will sapped. No matter how loyal or how brave he was or how many enemy he killed in the name of the Kabal and Archon, in the end he would be indistinguishable from any random lump of fresh meat that just happened to be around. He did not want his body to receive such horrific treatment. Suddenly, being eaten by the Tyranids seemed like a better alternative.

Levantia perished the thought. Now was not the time. After the battle was over, he would mull over this, assuming he survived.

Suddenly, a silent sound of an animal screech alerted him. Levantia turned around to see a Ravener glaring at him. It looked confused as he was at first, but once the lights revealed the human wielding it, the creature let out a howl and charged. Levantia's heart raced. He had no room to run. The terrain was too uneven, too soft for him to move quickly. Sliding on its snake-like abdomen, the Ravener did not suffer from such restriction. Within seconds, it was within claw's reach of its prey. Levantia fired, knowing it was pointless at this point. The Ravener reached out with its rending talon, poised to strike, when a barrel fell from the sky and crushed it beneath.

Levantia's was breathless for a moment. Then, he started giggling like an idiot at how lucky he had been. Dumb luck was a luxury in this dark and unforgiving galaxy. Or maybe the Emperor was watching over him, as unlikely as it was.

The Ravener twitched. Levantia fired again, not at the creature itself but at the container on top of it. Bluish liquid leaked out where needles punctured, reducing the screeching, flailing Tyranid to a smoldering husk.

Levantia scanned around for any further hostile before letting his guard down. He looked up at the ceiling where he had fallen from. It was dark and he could not see the gigantic hole on it.

"Sveltanar," he called. "Bruno. Can anyone hear me?"

Nothing came back except echoes.

"Is there anybody up there? Guys, don't leave me high and dry like this."

Still no response.

Unwilling to waste more time and effort doing something so futile, Levantia decided it was time to leave. This place was beginning to give him the creeps. He would take his chance with the Tyranids all day over staying here a minute longer.

* * *

The corridors Levantia found himself wandering into were better lit than the ones he had seen before with their walls lined up with torches. Levantia presumed this was for decorative purpose only, as no way a race as advanced as the Dark Eldar would stoop so low as to use such primitive method for a utility that was already not in high demand, illumination. Levantia considered grabbing one of those but discarded the idea in the end. While a torch provided more light than a lantern, it required a hand to carry, which he could not spare when using his rifle which the lantern was attached to.

As he moved along, Levantia could see the fighting had been much fiercer here with bodies on both sides littered around. Most of the dead were Tyranids, but for every six or seven dead Termagants or Hormagaunts, a broken figure of a Dark Eldar could be seen. The bodies were fresh and the wounds still bleeding. Which meant he could be running into hostile any moment now.

Levantia pondered on the concept of hostile, for this situation demanded on such revision. The Dark Eldar were supposedly his allies, but not all Dark Eldar on this ship were "nice" enough to accept that. More than once, he had seen dissention over the Archon's far too lenient treatment to the overseers. In fact, as far as he could recall, a good number of Dark Eldar on board would be more than happy if the overseer rank did not exist and all humans were confined to lower-class slaves. While being attached to a Kabalite group might have shielded him from their animosity, now that he had been separated the prospect of having a confrontation with one of them who did not share the point of view of their Archon seemed more likely than ever. And because most Dark Eldar did not speak Low Gothic, Levantia would have one hell of a time communicating with them. Besides, not all of them would be too pleased to find a human wandering on his own on board their ship, or perhaps they would be if they considered him to be a good prey.

Whichever the case, Levantia was determined. His masters they might be, as long as this battle waged on, the Dark Eldar would be his enemy as much as the Tyranids. And his decision would be to fight, or to flee.

Levantia searched the bodies for ammo he could use. Most of them had been picked clean, but here and there he came across those that were not, an indication that the Dark Eldar had not come out on top in every single engagement. A Dark Lance was lying around, but that was not his weapons of choice; if he were to fight through alone, he needed as much flexibility and versatility as he could get while maintaining a light weight. Back in the days where he was still a Tempestus Scion, every time a comrade was killed, it was part of the protocol to strip him of all his equipment so that they could be used for better purposes. In the end, Levantia scavenged six splinter rifle magazines and, for good measures should he lose his primary weapon, a splinter pistol.

One of the fallen Dark Eldar had a canton of water. Levantia took that too, taking a deep swig from it. The content was no different from what was given to the overseers, brackish and had a slimy feeling as though it was mixed with paste.

With his thirst quenched, Levantia traced across the corridor with his eyes and ears on high alert. The events earlier had proven the Tyranids were capable of delivering surprises even on a Dark Eldar ship which they have little to no knowledge of. The Great Devourer were a force to be reckon with, but they were far from invincible. Levantia remained calm by telling himself as long as he stayed within the confines of these corridors, the Tyranids have less scope to use numbers against him and opportunities of getting ambushed were slim, for no one could penetrate these walls and floor without making a sound that he could register.

Footsteps were coming, to the left at the next intersection, the echoes carrying their thudding sound to the next corridor. Fleshy feet. Moving quickly. No sign of any deliberation. Unlikely to be Tyranid. Dark Eldar probably. The footsteps were rapid and inconsistent. Fleeing away from trouble, it seemed. Peering at the pathway at the intersection, he saw an unarmed figure running at his direction. Levantia pressed himself against the wall and prepared to strike at whoever heading towards him. He could always use more ammo and it was not like that coward without a gun was going to need that anyway.

_Closer…_

_Closer…_

_Now!_

"YAAARGH!" Levantia charged at the figure with the butt of the rifle, figuring at such proximity he stood a much higher chance of hitting a fast-moving Dark Eldar than shooting. He was stopped halfway when a beam of light erupted from the figure and shot into his chest, sending him fifteen meters in the opposite direction. Levantia smeared the blood-covered floor as he landed.

Sprawling on the floor and panting heavily, Levantia looked for his rifle, only to find it outside his reach. Realizing he had made a terrible mistake taking on an opponent he could not deal with, an opponent he as an experienced and well-train Militarum Tempestus had, in a brief moment of stupidity, underestimated, Levantia turned to begging pathetically in Low Gothic, hoping whoever that was understood and had some sympathy, no matter how slim chance that was.

"Please….argh, I did not…mean to."

"Of course you did not," the figure responded in a melodic tone, a voice Levantia immediately recognized.

"Felia?" Levantia asked as he scrambled to his feet. Looking at the Eldar Farseer, he thought he was seeing someone else, for no longer was she the fragile and broken woman he once knew. For the first time since they met, Levantia saw she was standing straight on her two feet. Her injuries were all but gone now, no trace of them ever being there. Her face, while still pale by any human standard, had more colors returning to it now. Her almond eyes shone full amber without a trace of bloodshot as they had always been. She was well-dressed in white form-fitting robe although the outfit was tattered and torn in some places and she still had nothing to cover her feet. All in all, despite all the terrible things going on right now, Felia had somehow gotten better. "How the heck did you get here?"

"I followed the skein," she explained, giving a hand to pull him up. "I knew it is in the place that our coming together would take place."

"That's not what I mean," said Levantia, picking up his dropped rifle. His backside still ached badly from the fall. "Shouldn't the Dark Eldar bring you to a safer place right now? You do realize you are an important asset to them, do you?"

"I do," Felia responded flatly. The pride which she had suppressed for so long was returning, which Levantia was comfortable with because being too submissive would only cause her mentality to deteriorate. "But one of my retainers saw another asset more important to him, his life. When we were ambushed by the Great Devourer, he removed my limiter and begged me to save him. As my psychic power returned to me, I was able to set up a barrier to prevent the Hive Mind from influencing my mind. The first piece of divination I saw was how my survival could only come at the price of the death of the one who released me."

"He probably deserves it," Levantia said as he rubbed on his back. "Ouch. If you knew it was me all along, you could have gone easy a bit. I think my spine is broken."

"You did try to attack me, didn't you?" Felia said with a smirk on her face, the first one Levantia had seen. "Serves you right for your imbecility."

"So does that mean you can use your psychic power at will now?"

Felia shook her head slowly. "The Shadow of the Hive Mind still has a strong presence here. As it is right now, most of my power is spent on keeping it out of my mind and this weakens my protection from psychic backlashes. Though facing combat is inevitable, I must not overextend myself or the entities of the Warp would claim my very soul."

"But still, you are all better now, aren't you?"

"I guess so." Felia lowered her eyebrows and shrugged. "For now at least. Once the battle is over, they would put me back to my chains and collar just like before. This moment is not going to last."

"We will find a way," Levantia promised. "Let's hope that way. Believe me, I have been through worst during my career as a stormtrooper."

"I can sense Tyranids moving to our position, from that direction," Felia pointed to one of the pathways which Levantia at the point had forgotten where he had come from. "Their numbers exceed us greatly, we cannot win."

"Wait, your future-seeing ability is not affected at all by the Hive Mind?" asked Levantia.

"It is," Felia replied. "But the effort and energy spent each time to have a vision amount to next to nothing for a Farseer, so it is the probably the only power I can utilize at will. Or more likely, these visions of impending twists of fates that are related to me will appear before me even when I am not focused on them. Right now, the skein tells me the coming of the Great Devourer into where we are standing."

"How many do you see?" asked Levantia, readying his weapon at the direction where Felia predicted the Tyranids would be coming. The narrow corridors would be his greatest advantage and toxic grenades would allow him to clear out large swathes of them. "What is their composition?"

"Going into details is more strenuous, for the skeins of fate are diverse and not always showing the truth," Felia said. "To search for the truest truth would require my runes which I don't have right now or delving further into the Warp which is too dangerous given my defense is already down. But trust me when I say I am an experienced warrior as much as you are, Levantia. I calculate the possibilities based on what I can determine as facts and what I can pinpoint as very likely. We should not fight this one if we have a choice."

Levantia nodded in agreement. With no second to spare, the two of them raced across the corridors aimlessly seeking to escape the immediate danger. Levantia spared a few glances back and saw a horde of indistinct Tyranid horde hot on their tails. Despite the narrow pathway, they were fast on their feet and closed in the distance quickly. Where the Orks would squeeze as many of their numbers into the tight space without any concern and ultimately slow down or even trample on one another, the Tyranids were moving with uncanny deliberation and unison that saw no creature getting in the way of another.

The first Hormagaunt leapt at the two. Levantia and Felia separated and let the creature jumped in front of them. With deft, precise movements as though he had trained with this alien weapon for years, Levantia brought up his rifle and shot it once through the eye socket without reducing speed. The Tyranid dropped dead instantly. Whether it was dumb luck that he scored a hit or it was desperate learning in pressure he could not care less.

"We are not going to get away from them," said Felia morbidly. "Isha's tears, we are both going to die here."

"I don't think so," Levantia said as he chucked a belt of toxic grenade behind. A moment later, the sound of explosions rippled through the hallway. The Tyranids caught in the blast suffered the same fate as the Ravener before, their bodies vaporized and reduced to nothing more than bones and murky tissues. All of a sudden, the chase stopped as the surviving creatures were reluctant to take their chance with the small alleyway now heavily contaminated by dangerous toxins.

Before Levantia had a chance to gloat on the success, the Farseer gave another dire warning, "Enemy coming from that way. Come on, it will be safer if we go in this direction."

"There is not end to them, is there not?" Levantia groaned as he continued running. At this point, he did not bother where exactly he was heading anymore. While it was evident Felia had no inkling either, she seemed to be the one who could lead them both out of this alive.

"You have fought the Tyranids before," Felia responded. "You should know by now that the Great Devourers are not affected by war of attrition and every small victory against them amounts next to nothing in the overall struggle. Killing individual creatures can never lead to anything other than more individual creatures to kill. Only by striking a blow to their synaptic web can there be hope for us."

"Then let us hope the Archon finds those creatures soon and put an end to this," Levantia said. "Because I am fucking tired of this shit."

There was rumble on the ceiling, closing in on the two. This time around, Levantia was ready. He seized the Eldar, pulled her back and tossed her to the floor just as a Genestealer broke in from the ceiling, its claws scything the air where Felia had been occupying a split-second ago. The creature was more humanoid and looked like a smaller version of the Warrior with less carapace covering its head and body.

"What?" Felia stuttered in disbelief. "I did not see that. How could it…?"

Putting down the first Genestealer with point-blank shots to the head, Levantia grinned, "Looks like your predictions are not so reliable, after all."

Felia flushed angrily at her hurt pride, "That won't happen again."

A second Genestealer emerged. Levantia readied his weapon, but he did not need to. As soon as its feet touched the ground, a bolt of energy fired from Felia's hand impacted on its chest and turned it to fine dust. If that was only a small portion of her power, given the fact the majority of it had to be used on fending off the Hive Mind, Levantia wondered what would it be if she were to unleash its full potent at once. When Felia said her ability to see the future had gotten stronger while she was with the Dark Eldar, he assumed all of her other powers had gotten the same upgrade.

"Be grateful I did not do that to you earlier," she glared at him with her murderous amber eyes that almost sent chill down Levantia's spine. Last time her divination proved incorrect, the Kabal of the Shadow Talon paid a heavy price, and so did Felia with all the tortures and detriments she received. Levantia decided it was best not to bring that up again in the future. "Now, we move on."

* * *

The corridors became narrower and narrower with many points choked with Tyranid corpses which had turned into makeshift blockades. This place looked like the living quarter of the crew with rooms lined up on either side. The torches were all gone now and Levantia had turned his lantern back on. Both of them were tired, but neither wished to stop right now. While Felia had ceased to talk about her predictions, Levantia did not discount the possibility they were still in certain danger.

Tempestus Scion house-rule number 1: do NOT take chances.

As they went on, Levantia came to notice the fact that Felia was having difficulties trying to keep up with him and her movements were becoming increasingly uneven. Eldar, both Commorrite and Craftworlders, were known for their agility, and the journey with the Dark Eldar earlier had further consolidated this fact with the overseers constantly falling behind. Moreover, the Farseer tended to clench her eyes when stepping with her right foot as though suffering from pain.

"Stop," Levantia demanded. "Let me see your right sole."

"I am fine," the Farseer insisted. "We need to move on. The Tyranids could be on us any second now."

Levantia halted. "I will not leave this spot unless you let me examine you. Now, sit down and show me your right foot."

With a dismissive grunt, the Farseer relented and did as he said. Levantia could not see anything but dirt, grimes and blood covering the sole of her foot under the dim light. As he traced his finder across it, the Farseer let out a sudden pained yelp.

"Argh, that hurts."

"You are injured," said Levantia. "Come on. Let's find a place where I can bandage it up."

Felia did not argue this time. Even though she hated becoming a burden to him, remaining stubborn would not get her anywhere from here.

After a while trying to open every door he found, Levantia finally found a room, sort of. This was the personal space of a Dark Eldar. Whoever this belonged to lacked the diligence to lock the door, or wipe the floor, or take out the trash, or wash the mattress, though apart from the former, everything else seemed like natural things to do for Dark Eldar.

There was no power in here. Levantia and the Farseer sat on the floor as he tended to her wound. Taking out the water canton looted earlier, Levantia poured its content on the Eldar's injured feet and rubbing on it to clear away the filth. Despite the absence of protection for so long, the skin of her sole remained soft and smooth as ever. The last time he came into contact with it, it was in his face, which was not a good place for someone's foot to be.

Levantia was startled when Felia started giggling. He looked up and saw her face blushing red. A ghost of a smile formed on her face.

"Sensitive, are you not?" he smirked.

"No I am not…hmphhhh," the Farseer was cut off as Levantia raked his nails on her sole to clean out the more tedious filth while trying to avoid the spot where he had pinpointed the wound was. "It's not…ihihihi….funny."

"Of course it is not," said Levantia jokingly. Her adorable giggling was the best thing he had heard in years. "It's just hilarious."

She tried to pull her feet back but Levantia held on to them and tugged them both between his legs. Felia being a powerful psyker or not, in this battle of physical strength, he was superior. Felia was about to voice out her protest when Levantia compressed his fingers between her tender toes and moved back and forth, wiping their grime stuck in there. The Farseer seemed to lose it as she covered her mouth with both hands while shaking her head vehemently, hot tears dripping from her eyes and blond hair flirting madly.

"HMMMM! What are you doing?" she whimpered as softly as she could. Levantia could see drool leaked out and soak into her gloves. "You are doing this on purpose, aren't you, exploiting the sensitivity of the body that I am born with? Are you trying to make me laugh out loud so that the Great Devourer would find and eat us both?"

"Go on, try it," Levantia challenged. He moved on to the other foot and applied the same method, leaving Felia helplessly struggling against his might. "You Eldar are way too serious and gloomy all the time. If I get to hear your laughter before I die, that would be worth it."

"UHMMPFT!"

"Consider this a revenge for earlier."

With both her feet much cleaner than before, Levantia could see the problem clearly now. An object had impaled her sole and was now embedded inside her flesh, causing a blister. Levantia had always admired the Farseer's regenerative ability, something the Dark Eldar could never achieve without the excessive use of drugs or the Haemonculi's "magic tricks", but in this case, it apparently had worked against her by sealing the alien object well within her body. As he examined, it was not deep enough to be too difficult to reach but not shallow enough to pull out with bare hands.

"Hold still," said Levantia as he pulled out his knife. "I am going to pry it out. I have done this a dozen times before and you are going to be alright. Whatever you do, do not move."

Felia nodded, but as soon as the tip of his knife made a slight slit at her sole, she twitched. Levantia had to pull back before it could cut too deep and aggravate the injury further.

"I told you not to move," he scolded.

"I…I can't," said the Farseer.

"You are a warrior, or at least you were, am I right?" he asked with his brows raised. "You should be able to handle quite a bit of pain without any problem. Is this that hard to hold still for just a few seconds while I am doing my work?"

"Yes, it does." Felia's face was the color of cherry as she spoke. "This is sensation is unbearable for me. Call me someone with algophobia, but you have no idea how many times I feel every feeling and emotions with greater intensity than you humans do, especially negative ones such as pain and grief. The dark kin, they tortured me when I gave them the wrong prediction. I begged and pleaded and implored them to stop or not only my body but my whole mentality would be destroyed, but such mercy did not come until the last minute. I can't stand it no more. Is there another way you can do it without…"

Suddenly, Levantia remembered when he was asked to kill her, Felia did demand to know whether the process would involve any pain. A pang a guilt struck Levantia as he realized how inconsiderate and pig-headed he had been to her due to his assumption that Eldar physiology was no different from that of humans. The Eldar felt all things more intensely than humans, agony included. Up until the last raid, Felia had been cooperating without the need for "persuasion", but things changed dramatically when she made her first mistake that costed her her lofty but precarious position. He wondered what kind of experience it was when she was first time tortured by the Dark Eldar. Recalling her sorry state when she was first brought into the overseer cell, Levantia's heart felt silent. To any human, that must have been excruciating. To an Eldar, it could be no less than hell itself.

"Unless you can use your pretty magic to pull it out, I have no other option," Levantia replied with his voice softened. "How do you people treat one another in the battlefield if everyone is so susceptible to agony like you? Don't tell me you have to somehow sedate every single one of them somehow?"

"All of the medical treatments my people perform are psychical and only in the most extreme cases are physical methods required. Our healers communicate with the body and bestow it with the strength to re-grow and prosper again."

"Well you had better get used to this one then," said Levantia sternly. "Because the Dark Eldar's methods are not much different from us humans and require pretty much the same amount of physical contact. Can you just hold still your foot for a few seconds so that I and work on it?"

"I will try," said Felia determined.

"Great, now let's do it again."

Levantia cut open a piece of flesh from the Farseer's sole with his knife, eliciting a stream of groans and mews from her who was putting no effort at all in keeping her composure. Though her body was convulsing in a manner no different from those Tyranids infected with poisons, she kept her right foot still, barely. Her toes were wiggling frantically, but that did not produce any impediment. He then repeated the action a few more times before carefully prying the object with the knife's sharp tip. Finally, he was able to take out what had been embedded in her sole, a fragment of a Tyranid carapace it seemed, and the Farseer sighed in relief as she wiped her teary eyes with her sleeves. Levantia tore a piece of fabric from his undershirt and wrapped in around her foot.

"My eternal gratitude belongs to you," she said, her toes curling and spreading harmoniously. "For everything you did to me. Never before in my life have I imagined I would end up being indebted to a human. How could I ever repay you enough?"

"Don't sweat it," said Levantia coolly as he toyed around with her toes. Felia tittered and then giggled as his rough fingers pulled, pinch, scratched, spread and caressed her delicate toes. Her watery amber eyes stared at him affectionately and Levantia looked back at them with the same passion. "I was doing this for myself as well. If anything, your power to foresee the future just might be my ticket out of this mess." She might not have noticed how really important she was to him at this point, and Levantia decided it was better that way. As long as he had someone to care for, someone he could still yearn to be with despite all the sufferings and miseries, as long as he could put a smile on his face after everything, then all was not yet lost. "We need to get you something to wear on those. The battlefield is a hazardous place with dangerous things littered around. We cannot have you walking around barefooted like that."

As long as they had each other, there was still hope.

Hope, such a beautiful word, still existed here.

* * *

_**Author's notes: First time in a while I am back to the uploading schedule I promise you all. I will try to keep it up, but be aware my inspiration also depends on what I am reading nowadays an honestly I have given up on Black Library. I am more interested in young adult fiction right now, which a few years ago I absolutely hate (mostly because of Twilight).**_

_**Out of all the Chaos Space Marine Chapters, the Iron Warriors are the most economical and efficient. They waste nothing, not even bodies. The "corpse industry" is inspired my Siege of Castellax and Dead Sky, Black Sun.**_

**_As a fan of Eldar and human romance, I don't see a lot of actions in those stories, as though Warhammer 40k fanfiction has 2 separate sub-genres that did not seem to mix: badass fighting and love stories. Why can't we have an action-packed love story, guys? This story will attempt will breach that and combine the two. Hope you like it._**


	8. Chapter 8: Conciliation

Within the Chamber of Dreams, Archon Feharuln Snaketongue and his retinue were fighting for their lives. This was far from the destination they set out to from the command bridge which was the vehicle deck where open space and high strategic value guaranteed most of the bugs would be there. However, the fierce melee had forced them to deviate from their original course and move to this recreational centre seeking sanctuary, a decision Feharuln grudgingly made after seeing all the Kabalite Warriors escorting him cut down in a furious Genestealer ambush. The two entrances, both rather small, impeded the Tyranids' advance and allowed the Archon and his court some breaths.

On any Eldar Craftworld, the Chambers of Dreams were places where travelers of the Path of the Dreamer would gather to explore the landscapes within their subconscious, thus furthering their mental fortitude. For the Dark Eldar, these chambers provided a source of entertainment by giving shapes and forms to nightmares. Nobody in Commorragh went to bed with a clear mind and while it was excruciating for everyone to experience their own nightmares, no one could deny the pleasure of witnessing painful deaths, public humiliation and other manners of misery belonging to another. It all began when a merchant started selling his nightmares to others. He immediately became rich beyond his dream before his most feared nightmare came true, and he was murdered by his insomniac stepbrother who took over the business

Due to the power outage, the Chamber of Dreams on the Eternity of Torment had been empty for a while. The maintenance crew must have been either slacking off or relocated to another post because the place looked quite run down with a layer of grime on everything and wastes scattering about, not all of which pertaining to the Tyranids.

"How dare those filthy creatures lay foot upon MY ship without MY permission?" the Archon barked atop the shooting and screeching. "They have no right. No right, you hear me?!"

"Loud and clear, my lord," responded sarcastically the Lhamaean by the name Varuq. Feharuln stared grimly at her. She did not look back, too busy spraying toxic fluids at the onrushing horde. Normally, Feharuln would have her flayed alive for insolence, but this situation was too desperate for him to be wasting valuable assets, no matter how insolent they were, for some petty offenses. Besides, if Archon Slavara were here, he would not have minded. Feharuln just had to let it go, allow another hole punched into his already tattered pride, and moved on.

He might still flay her later.

Or not.

Probably not.

Most certainly not.

There were eleven of them, six Sslyth, three Lhamaeans, three Medusae, one Ur-Ghul and the leader of the Kabal of the Shadow Talons himself, fending themselves against a seemingly endless horde of Tyranids. Every member had a role to play and they performed it in such cohesion that any small mistake by an individual could lead to the fall of the entire group. The bulky Sslyth formed a protective shield around their comrades, hacking down Hormagaunts with two pairs of four arms each equipped with a close combat weapon while their thick skin withstood damages that would have killed any Dark Eldar. Behind them, Medusae and Lhamaeans unleashed volleys of anti-lights and Sanguine Exodus toxins that sent dozens creatures sprawling in agonized deaths. The Ur-ghul shuffled back and forth, using its unnatural senses to detect any breakthrough and its inhuman strength and speed to counter it. The creature would have easily run off and jumped straight into the middle of the Tyranid horde if it had not been chained by a device that would inflict paralyzing pain if it ever moved too far from the Archon, as in anywhere further than five meters away. At the middle of the formation was the Archon himself, his towering arrogance inspiring his warriors to their height of courage, not wanting to lose face in front of such remarkable figure.

Yet, despite all their efforts and discipline, the fact the Tyranids could only squeeze a limited number through the entrances at a time was the only reason why they were standing. That the Great Devourers do not change their tactic was the last mistake any inexperienced commander could have made. As the waves of creature abated, Feharuln braced himself for the revelation even as some of his court members started showing foolish signs of reliefs. Turned out, he was right. A section of the wall went down in dust and with a deafening roar, a Carnifex came to view. It did not waste any time locating its target and made a headlong charge.

"Focus fire and bring that thing down," Feharuln ordered as he lowered his disintegrator cannon to fire.

Two of the Lhamaeans responded and turned their firepower upon the monstrous creature while the others redoubled their effort to avoid this distraction from turning into a breakthrough. Plasma balls from the Archon blew up chunks of the Carnifex's armor, allowing the poisons from the Lhamaeans to seep through into its flesh and organs where they would cause the most damage. The Carnifex lost momentum and dropped dead just in front of the Archon and his court.

"Watch out behind us!" one of the Sslyth shouted frantically. Feharuln turned his head around to see a second Carnifex already closing in at an alarming speed. He saw another hole on the wall, this time silently melted away by acid. That these creatures managed to deceive him was a disgrace he was not going to tolerate.

"Scatter. Now!" Feharuln's instruction came just in time for some and a second too late for others. The charge knocked one of the snake-men across the room and painted the wall with his innards. One of the Medusae was crushed beneath the massive weight and the Ur-ghul, thanks to its quick reflexes, had jumped on top of the Carnifex banging and biting wildly at the creature. Despite possessing the strength equal to that of a whole squad of Dark Eldar, there was no way the Ur-ghul could take on the Carnifex with only bare hands and teeth. Most of Feharuln's bodyguards including himself steered clear from the living ram just in time but found themselves divided and suddenly surrounded by a horde of ravenous beings that came not from two but four directions.

"No! I will not die!" the Archon bellowed. "Not like this! NEVER like this!"

Tyranids coming at him were hacked apart by expert swings from his husk blade. The battle was becoming more desperate by the moment. Without his disintegrator cannon, the Carnifex would go unopposed unless the Lhamaeans could somehow make a lucky hit that penetrated its thick armor. Feharuln held on for now, tossing all the grenades he had at the horde and even though a huge chunk was blown away, replacements came within seconds. The bodyguards fought on because they had nothing else to do, but even they were slowly losing in this brutal melee. Some of them went down. Feharuln did not see which one, nor did he care. Archon Slavara might have cared, but he was dead and probably enduring endless torment at the hand of She-Who-Thirst right now. Slavara always adopted the carrot approach when it came to handling his troops, a tactic that earned his as much respect as disdain. As for Feharuln, he did not respect Slavara. He worshipped him, the one who brought this Kabal to its peak of glory, and the one whose death caused it to fall from grace faster than someone found their head missing in an encounter with the Mandrakes.

Always fight on, Slavara had said. Never lose hope. Never give up.

_ Never give up._

_ NEVER!_

Not everyone was going to get out of here alive, but for Feharuln, he expected to go out in a blaze. His compatriots called him Snaketongue, a name that was revered and looked down upon in equal measures. Some of those in Commorragh were under the impression he was all talk and no bite. Today, he would show them just how much venom he had.

Dropping his disintegrator cannon which he had no room to use, the Archon went all out against his foe. Tyranids of all manners were cut down by his blades or shot dead by his splinter pistol. Hormagaunts, Termagants, Genestealers, he lost count how many he had slain. The more he fought, the more pain he inflicted, the higher his sensation reached, the greater his power became. Despite knowledge of his inevitable fate in this pointless struggle, the Archon managed himself a good laugh as he stood upon a mountain of fresh corpses. It had been a while since he killed so many in a single engagement. No human or Tau would be so foolish as to come at him in melee and not even the Orks were that numerous.

"Yes. Yes. YEEESSS! Come at me! Come and die, alien degenerates!"

A Warrior leaped at him. The lash whip cut down one of the holograms produced by the Archon's clone field. Before the Tyranid could react, Feharuln took the opportunity and sliced its elongated skull in half. The synapse backlash sent a few lesser creatures off their feet, but the presence of more Warriors meant they were going nowhere.

Another Warrior attempted to dislodge him, this time from afar with its venom cannon. Feharuln saw could its pathetically cumbersome movements from miles away. Injecting himself with a dose of Hypex, the Archon leapt through the crowd and dodged the creature's shot with blinding speed. Though there were many Tyranids in his way, Feharuln felt the urge to subdue his vanity by slaying this particular creature that had the audacity to assassinate him while he was having fun. The smaller creatures formed a protective circle around the Warrior, all for nothing as Feharuln busted through and split the synapse creature's skull in half.

The drug lasted seconds, but thankfully the withdrawal effect was lenient, courtesy of the Lhamaeans. Feharuln's excitement ebbed as a sea of claws engulfed him. Though he fended off most of the blows, many found his body and a few scores deep gashes through his armor. The sight and feeling of his life fluid seeping through caused the Archon to be overwrought. There was no escape this time.

Suddenly, the Tyranids that had been swarming him just then broke off. Feharuln was not going to let his guard down knowing this might be another dirty ploy from the aliens. Luckily, it was not. A company of misshapen Dark Eldar warriors with modified, sewn together body stepped into the room and engaged the Tyranids with ragged blades and elongated limps fashioned into talons. These new soldiers stood firm against the onrushing horde and drove them back slowly but surely. Leading them was none another than Crox. While Feharuln never enjoyed the fact all the Wracks and Grotesques in his Kabal were loyal to the Haemonculus more than they were to him, if they even recognized him as something worth their attention, he was now glad to see such force coming to his rescue.

The battle went on long enough for Feharuln to take down another two Warriors. The Carnifex went down after being overwhelmed by the Grotesques, though not before cutting two of them in half. With their army severely depleted and the presence of the Hive Mind cut off, the Tyranids scuttered away like animals running from a forest fire. Hundreds of bodies littered the battlefield, almost entirely Tyranids. As Feharuln recovered from his battle fatigue, he noticed most of the court members were dead. Only one Sslyth and one Lhamaean remained, the former pretty beaten up and the latter suffering minor injuries despite everything. As that whore-God Lileath would curse him, Varuq was the latter. The loss of the Medusae was a huge deal as he had become rather addicted to their brain-fruit, an obsession his predecessor found disgusting.

"Ah, looks like me and my men got here in the nick of time," said Crox even though his eyes still skimmed the battlefield for anything he could pick up. His followers had already begun working and taking advantage of the lull before the storm as the Archon and his surviving bodyguards recovered to loot as much for the Haemonculus's laboratory as possible. "A second later and who knows what might have become of you. You held longer than what I calculated, oh my, is my brain really that rusty by now? You should find yourself lucky you are accompanied by competent followers, something many other Archons have always dreamed of."

"Slavara taught me much," Feharuln replied. Acting humbly was out of his character, but the appreciation he had for the former Archon was enough to change that. "He had no reservation when it comes to using his men and neither do I. Even piles of compost can still slow down my enemies, even the lowliest flies can still buzz them, as he was so fond of saying."

"Well said," Crox concurred. His eyes wandered around for a moment before he said, "It looks like this place will not be seeing the light of day anytime soon. I will miss that. Lots of good memories here. I can never forget that bastard who soiled his pant when he dreamed about cute little flying ponies. And your nightmare is Archon Slavara coming back to life and saying you have failed him, is that not?"

"Remind me that again and I will throw you into the Khymaera cage," Feharuln admonished. His manhunt for the one who surreptitiously collected that horrid dream from him was still ongoing. Once he got his hand on the offender, death would be too lenient for him. "Any word from reinforcement?"

"They are on their way," came the reply. "Nevertheless, even through the Webway, the distance is quite far. It will take them at least an hour later to arrive."

"Then let us hope we can hold the portal while staying alive until then," said the Archon.

Taking a few further deep breaths, the Feharuln announced, "Break time is over. Let's get back to work. We need to get to the vehicle chamber and put an end to this infestation. These creatures came to MY ship to defile it; they even seek after MY very life. I vow them pay dearly."

"Then we go," the Haemonculus responded.

With that, the remnant of the Archon court joined force with the Haemonculus creations as they matched to where the battle would be the bloodiest.

All the while, none of them saw two purple eyes watching them and feeling amused by the folly they were allowing to take place.

* * *

"We can't stay here forever," Levantia insisted. He was beginning to find this whole charade tiresome and what he should do was apply the force which he had so successfully done with Felia before. Yet, the situation this time was different and he was no longer the macho man who was in a better position to bargain anymore. Felia was a Farseer, and now that her power had been somewhat restored, she was without a doubt his best chance of surviving this Tyranid attack. "The battle is still waging out there. We need to get going."

"What if I don't want either you or myself die in the name of some maniac who thinks he has the power to do everything he wants?" Felia responded sourly. She was lying on bed pulling her bare feet away in an attempt to prevent Levantia from getting her to wear the socks he found. "He takes everything and gives nothing in return. He is cruel and vicious and vile. How could you ever honor someone like that?"

"Archon Feharuln might not be the nicest person in this galaxy," Levantia explained. "But for the very least, he did what the other Archons would not. He gave us a second chance, just like the Emperor gave humanity even when it stood before His effort to unite it in the Great Crusade. When taken as slaves by the Dark Eldar, we thought it was all over until Feharuln allowed us into his rank. Of course, I will fight for him."

"I don't know how much lie has he dripped into your ears, but you shall not sway me," Felia said with bitterness in her voice. "If you want to go outside and put yourself into harm's way for no agreeable reasons, fine. Just do not count me in. I am not moving from this spot."

"And what if the Tyranids come here?" asked Levantia. "Are you content with being trapped in this room when they do?"

"I will still be blessed with a better chance of surviving than going out there," Felia hissed. She turned her back on him and shut her eyes to sleep. Levantia sighed deeply. It appeared that getting her out would be as difficult as getting an Ork to take a bath.

Or maybe he just needed an alternative approach.

"Have it your way then, because I am leaving," said Levantia. "If the Tyranids come knocking, you are on your own."

With that, he packed up all that he needed which included his splinter rifle, any piece of munitions he could get his hand on, some warm clothes, half the leftover food and stormed off.

As he began walking through the corridors, it did not take long before he could hear the sound of fleshy feet running in his direction. He did not need to be a Farseer to know Felia had had a change of mind.

"Can't stand the loneliness, I guess?" Levantia snickered.

"You humans are all the same," Felia grumbled angrily. Her cheeks were red and her golden eyes glaring at his. "Stubborn, pig-headed and always vindicated that what you are doing is right. Without the Eldar guiding and babysitting your every move since the dawn of the Imperium, your race would have been long extinct already."

"None of it matters anymore," said Levantia indifferently. His tone seemed to aggravate Felia even more. "Besides, looking back at the history we share together, I am the one who has been babysitting you the whole time. Even now."

"I only decided to come with you to prevent your stupidity from getting yourself killed just like Eldanesh when he accepted the favor of Khaine," she said, her meek voice betrayed the tenderness she felt inside. She was too proud to admit, but Levantia knew there was more to it than meets the eye in the bond between him and the Eldar. Perhaps he was her missing half just as she was his. "Any other Eldar would gladly sit back and enjoy as the scenes unfold how your inevitable demise comes about from your imbecility. Be grateful because of I am the exception."

"I would be especially grateful if you could wear these." Levantia pulled out a pair of socks taken from the Dark Eldar from his pocket. "You would want to preserve some power spent on keeping your feet warm. We are heading to a warzone here. Every margin matters."

This time, Felia did not argue and sat down to let Levantia put the socks on her. Her feet were creamy and delicate as though she had received constant manicure as opposed to walking barefooted on a ship for at least a couple of weeks, the toes even and nails slightly long. Getting her to wear those Dark Eldar boots would be counter-productive, however. Not only were they too large, coming in one size only much like the ones given to Guardsmen (given the Dark Eldar society, Levantia guessed they had more sizes available but the Kabal saved money by buying in batches and the lower members did not have enough finance to acquire something that fit his/her feet well), the rough of these armored items made them unsuitable for her dainty feet. If anything, she might as well wear a pair of bricks on her feet and it would have the same effect. Despite Levantia's insistence, Felia refused to carry any firearm with her, reasoning they were inelegant and she was unfamiliar with pulling triggers to fire - all Craftworld technologies were activated through a psychic link with the user. She assured him her power would suffice and adding more firepower would not be any more efficient.

"Any idea where we are heading?" asked Felia.

"I am not certain of that myself," Levantia replied. "Just keep going and things will turn out in the end."

"And if we run into your so-called 'allies', what should we do with them?"

"Before I ran into you, I would treat them like any other enemy," Levantia replied and paused. After a moment's thought, he went on, "But now that you are here, and you speak their language, and since you are a vital asset to them, I would go for the negotiation route."

"And what if I cannot convince them?"

Levantia shrugged. "Then we go back to the old fashion way." He hoped it would not come to that. It was not like his masters would mind that much that some Kabal members met their end in a different manner from what they expected. The Tyranids were the major threat around here and the more Dark Eldar he had to put down out of desperation, the slimmer the chance of victory over them.

The two travelled through the hallway on high alert for any possible ambush. Despite being the alien of this ship, the Tyranids had adopted to its structure and layout well, striking from places unexpected from time to time.

The corridors were quiet and dark, richly decorated with grisly trophies of successful raids. The floor was littered with fallen bodies of Tyranids and occasionally Dark Eldar. These Dark Eldar corpses, however, had been thoroughly looted, an indicator that the xeno slavers still had some presence in the precinct. As Levantia contemplated what he would do if he did run into the Dark Eldar, Felia seized his left arm and pulled him to her.

"I sense the coming of the Eladrith Ynneas," she said. "Heading to our direction."

"The what?" Levantia cringed.

"Dark Eldar," Felia responded flatly.

"How many of them?" he asked. "Are they well-armed? Friendly or hostile?"

"You are asking too many insignificant questions, human," Felia replied with an annoyed voice. "Your ignorance of how the skein works furthers your curiosity, but that curiosity quickly becomes out of control like a fledging bird that has yet to have feathers jumping from tree to see it could fly. The answer to everything cannot be given, not even from a Farseer…"

"And you are blowing hot and cold too much," Levantia snapped. "This is a matter of life and death here. Can you give me the answer to any of my questions?"

Felia paused for a moment, her amber eyes opened wide and stared at his sapphire orbs, only to receive a stern gaze in return. Taking a deep breath, she replied, "A small squad. I sense a lot of violent intents on them, though which one is for the Tyranids, which one for themselves and which one for everything that lives and feels in general I cannot distinguish."

Levantia shuddered at the mention of the last part. If that had come from the mouth of one of his overseer friends, he would have taken it for granted, but that coming straight from a Farseer made him feel uneasy. Felia was not the type who would make jokes in grim circumstances like this. If the Dark Eldar were such cruel to every species including their very own kin, what chance did he have to persuade and befriend with them?

"Maybe we shoul…" Levantia began. Before he could finish, shots rang out and both he and the Farseer dived for cover behind a deceased Tyranid Warrior which was the only thing big enough to protect them completely. The shots were unmistakably from splinter weapons. Peeking his eyes out, Levantia could see armored figures taking cover at the intersection of the hallway, at least five of them.

The firing stopped and Levantia could see two of them arguing over something while at least three more still had their weapons aimed at his where he was standing. Perhaps they recognized he was not Tyranid and were discussing how to deal with that.

The Dark Eldar began shouting something in alien language. "They are asking us to identify ourselves," Felia next to him. "What should we do?"

"You are the Farseer," Levantia said. "Can't you think of something?"

"If I could, I would not have been in this forsaken place," she replied darkly.

More shouts, with greater urgency this time, came from the xenos. Levantia knew holding up like this forever was impossible as it would be only a matter of time before one of them lobbed a toxic grenade at him. He needed to act.

Raising his weapon in the air, Levantia stepped out to face the Dark Eldar. All the weapons were trained on him, but none fired immediately though he could sense some fingers were just itching to pull the trigger.

"What are you doing?" asked the Farseer, appalled.

"The only thing we can do right now," Levantia replied calmly. "Get out and show yourself to them."

"I am not going back to being a prisoner anymore," Felia snarled at him. "I would rather die before that."

"Mon'keigh overseer, is that really you?" came a familiar female voice. Levantia's eyes widened in astonishment.

"Darelyn?" he asked back, feeling a surge or relief running through his body.

One of the Dark Eldar said something to the others who lowered their weapons before approaching Levantia and took off the helmet, revealing a beautiful face and jet-black hair. Where the incursion had improved Felia's condition, Darelyn looked much worse than the last time they met. Her eyes were dull and bloodshot, whether from the lack of sleep, battle fatigue or abuse of combat (or any kind of) drugs he was not sure. Her breaths were uneven and there was a red flush on her face.

"Never thought I would find you like this," Darelyn said as she leaned towards him. As their bodies touched, Levantia felt a pang of guilt ran through his chest for not thinking about her all this time. He was too busy with the whole not-getting-eaten-by-Tyranids thing and when he was not, the only woman he ever thought of was Felia, probably because their similar circumstances gave them a more powerful attachment.

The other Dark Eldar emerged from the alleyway, seven of them in total. Though they did not look like they enjoy what they were seeing, there was no sign of open hostility either, a fact Levantia was glad to see because, despite the overseers being on the same rank as average Kabalite Warriors, the ethnocentric culture meant they were always inferior to every Dark Eldar no matter how low they were.

"Neither did I," Levantia said. Regardless what he thought about the Dark Eldar race in general, his experience with Darelyn told him to put the highest faith within her. She might be evil and manipulative just like the rest of her people, but there were certain qualities she possessed that made her the one diamond among the coal. Sometimes Levantia wondered if it was just a coping mechanism to bring about some aspects of her everyday life as a noble to the battlefield or if she was truly that naïve.

"Looks like you all got banged up," he continued. Darelyn and another Dark Eldar in the group wore more refined, form fitting armors compared to the rest, indicating their rank among the Trueborns. As far as Levantia recall, Trueborns despised "halfborns" (an informal term) as much as Dark Eldar despised humans. They formed separate units and would not allow themselves to be on the same level as their vat-grown comrades unless the situation was desperate. The insignias pertaining to different squads (Levantia knew this because he had one on his uniform as well) were also different from person to person, and the Dark Eldar rarely regarded anyone else other than those within their proximate circle. From what he could see, survivors from multiple squads had been forced to set aside their differences and work together. Which might have explained why they were so comfortable with his presence, or at the very least they did not show any sign of disapproval. "What happened here? Does not look like you are on the defense. Can you shed some light on me as to how the battle is going?"

"The Great Devourers are running rife across this ship," said Darelyn, her voice both grim and excited. "All of our barricades in this section are either overrun or we managed to turn their mountain of freshly slain corpses into makeshift walls that they need not be defended anymore. Many brothers and sisters belong to She-Who-Thirsts now." Darelyn was the only Dark Eldar Levantia knew to use the phrase "brothers and sisters" to refer to her comrades, at least to other Trueborns. "As far as I can tell, we are what are left of a two hundred strong detachment sent to protect this place."

"What is your current objective?" Levantia asked. "I can lend a hand. I have…"

Darelyn shook her head. "Goal is lost already. Our only hope is to survive long enough for reinforcement to arrive, and let's pray the Great Father that the Webway portal is still functional when they do."

Levantia was about to speak something when one of the Dark Eldar rasped in his native tongue while raising his rifle threateningly. Realizing he was not the one the barrel was pointing at, Levantia looked around and saw Felia walk out from behind the Tyranid Warrior's body and finally decide to let herself be seen. Suddenly, the remaining Dark Eldar did the same thing at the Farseer and Darelyn pulled him to her back protectively. An argument broke out between the Felia and the Dark Eldar. Both were talking in their alien language so Levantia had no idea what that was all about.

"Don't worry, she is with me," Levantia tried to explain.

"Mon'keigh, that was dangerous," cried Darelyn. "She does not have her limiter anymore. She is tainted, and now she is going to transfer that taint to us all. Who knows what kind of sorcery that Warp-touched bitch could unleash."

"Calm down," Levantia said. "She's all right."

"No, she is not," echoed Darelyn. "She is a psyker. Her very presence attracts the attention of She-Who-Thirsts and her minions. Unlike her, we Dark Eldar have no protection from such. Being anywhere close to that bitch poses a risk of having our very soul stripped away from us. She is a magnet of daemons, a beacon of death."

Levantia suddenly recalled why Archon Feharuln would never bring Felia to the Commorragh, not without risking his reputation and probably his very life. Psykers were universally hated by the Dark Eldar who had as much potential for psychic abilities as the Eldar but were left with no choice to suppress it lest their spirit be bled away. One of the reasons why all none of the slaves, bottom deck dwellers, and overseers alike, had any psychic or Chaos background despite the Kabal's indiscriminate raiding policy that saw as many worlds held by the Dark Power ransacked as Imperial worlds. They were simply too dangerous to be put on board.

"Felia," Levantia addressed the Farseer. "Can you raise your barrier against the daemons of the Warp so that it can extend to their minds as well?"

"That would not be necessary," she said. "The daemonic presence only seeks after my soul. As long as I do not reach out to them psychically in any way, nothing ugly will happen. If only these superstitious obstinate baboons could stop making much ado about nothing, open their eyes and see it for themselves."

"Who are you calling baboons, psychic-freak?" Darelyn retorted.

"I fail to see any reason why I should willingly divert from the truth," Felia replied evenly.

Some more back and forth shouting in Eldar tongue took place between the two of them. The other Dark Eldar also chimed in. Levantia did not know what they were talking, but from their tones, he was certain neither side was going anywhere. If this was how the Eldar did things whenever a disagreement arose, no wonder why their race had been in such bad shape despite their cunning, technological advance and, in the case of the Craftworld, the ability to foresee the future. Then again, perhaps the difference between the Craftworlds and Commorragh was simply too great for anyone to put aside and bury the hatchet; if an Imperial human and a Chaos human had a discussion, it would probably go the same way.

He felt helpless at the situation, even more than when he was stuck in the elevator with Bruno's armpit in his face. This was a conversation between members of not one but three different species, each one with its own culture, norms, views and beliefs. Two languages were used and all but two speakers were psychotic murderers.

"That is it, Levantia," Felia turned to him with face furious red. "It is time we take our departure from these druchii. Nothing good can ever come from us being anywhere within a mile from them."

"Where do you think you are taking him?" Darelyn seized Levantia by the arm who was taken aback by the iron grip. Never had he seen her so incandescent or displaying such brute force. "This Mon'keigh is coming with me whether you like it or not."

"How do you get to keep him? You don't even know his real name."

Darelyn turned to Levantia and asked, "What's your name again?"

"Carlos Levantia," he replied without thinking. In retrospect, that might have been a terrible idea. For once, there was a chance she would start carving his names on objects where a human's name, or anyone's name for that matter, should not be on.

"Now I know too," Darelyn spoke sharply to Felia who looked like a volcano about to burst.

"Shut up! Both of you!" Levantia shouted out. Instantly, both women felt silent. Sveltanar did this, quite occasionally, in situations where an argument got dragged for too long, resulting in an important decision delayed by the lack of mutual understanding and trust and people resorting to vulgar or physical means of settling their disputes. Now, it was the time he took up the mantle. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "In any normal day, I would gladly have you two fussing over this needless bone of contention. However, must I remind you we are in the middle of a Tyranid invasion here? I know I am probably the youngest one around here, but you are acting like intolerant children around here. Can we just cut it off already?"

Felia blushed crimson red and stared down at her feet, her fingers fidgeting. This was not the first time Levantia had scolded the Farseer. She was too mixed up with her emotions and could not think practically at times. It was no surprise the Craftworld sold her out as a way to "minimize damage" the Kabal could cause.

Darelyn looked more composed, however. Of the two of them, Levantia always saw her as the one with stronger personality. Nodding in approval, she said, "I will take your words into account. So what do you propose?"

"Nobody is splitting up for any reason," Levantia replied as firmly as he could. The time he spent living with the other overseers had taught him one important thing, and that was the strength of unity. Divided and isolated, the humans could not hope to survive on the Eternity of Torment. It was by forming this small community that allowed them to retain their strength, both physical and psychological. "We move out together. Tell your friends here the Farseer is not a threat. If we are to pull this one out, we need all the help we can get our hand on. The Archon is counting on us."

Darelyn pondered for a moment. She then talked to her comrades who were vehement at first but eventually softened, much to Levantia's relief.

"We agree to take her with us," Darelyn said. "Her presence shall be tolerated, no matter how much inconvenient that is to us. We will take no excuse for her failing to be useful to our cause, or her treachery. Moreover, any sign of that psychic-freak going out of control, even the slightest one, and death will be the most merciful compared to what we can offer."

"Is that so?" Felia said sarcastically as she stepped up towards the group, meeting the murderous gaze from the Dark Eldar with utter disdain. "How kindly of you all? You should give yourselves medals for being the nicest, most agreeable druchii in this whole galaxy for that."

"Watch your tongue, Craftworlder, or we will…."

The rest of the conversation once again changed to Eldar language as they went along. It was not going so well. Levantia sighed deeply. Making these two get along would be as difficult as having a Dark Angel and a Space Wolf in the same room without anyone delivering any insult every five minutes. But for the very least, Felia and Darelyn were on the same side now, and he was with them both.

One fewer things to worry about.

Ten hundred more to go.

* * *

_**Author's note:** **This chapter introduces the Archon who will play a major role later on in the story. A lot of Dark Eldar stuff come out in this chapter. I did a lot of research to write the most appropriate description possible, but if there is anything you find incorrect, be sure to inform me. I do take all reviews seriously.**_

**_Also, can anyone out there guess what Archon Feharuln's Warlord Trait is?_**

**_The language barrier will also play a significant role in this story. In most others, it is assumed that everyone can speak Low Gothic without any problem. Or in some cases, writers raise the issue only to describe how the Eldar think the language used by humans is inelegant or stupid in a very cheap one-directional way. Eldar and humans are NOT the only two races in the universe and compared to languages used by Tau, Orks, and Necron, Low Gothic is much much better. In my other story, The Melancholy of Shizuka Miyamoto, it is the common language used in inter-species communication regardless whether it is the native language of either speaker, and I will assume the same thing in Dawn of War: Dark Crusade and Soulstorm._**

**_Thanks for reading. I will see you next time._**


	9. Chapter 9: Escalation

"You cannot be serious about this," Felia said furiously. "Do you have even the slightest idea who they are, or is memory loss a common occurrence for the humans?"

Levantia sighed deeply. A few months ago and he would have regarded the concept of fighting alongside the Dark Eldar ludicrous at best, and unforgivably heretical at worst. However, time had passed, the settings changed and with it, the way of life. After living among the most sadistic slavers in the galaxy, he had also come to realize they were not as bad as he imagined, or at the very least, they did not look like they were going to flay him alive and wear his skin at any moment.

"Our goal is to survive, is it not?" he replied. He glanced at Darelyn who was also in deep conversation with one of her comrade. They seemed to be debating about something and judging by the way they hissed and lashed at one another, it was not something pretty. "With superior numbers, with more weapons, should that not be easier?"

"Not with them, it isn't," Felia persisted. "The words of the druchii must not be taken so easily, for their heart is as black as charred coal and their souls could only continue to exist through acts of cruelty. They burn your worlds to ashes. They enslave your people and treat them like pieces of garbage. They despoil and defile everything in everywhere they go. And yet, you have faith in them? I had expected much more from a loyal follower of the Emperor, but now..."

"If I were a loyal follower servant of the Emperor, I would shoot you right here and now," Levantia cut her off with a grim tone. Felia stopped in her track, slightly bewildered by what she just heard. "But not before I kill myself for allowing this taint to persist inside me for so long," Levantia lowered his voice. "None of that matters anymore. The Imperial Creed, the animosity and grudge against the aliens and the unclean, the Dark Eldar true nature. If we are going to make this one out alive, then we have to learn how to leave what is irrelevant and what is harmful behind so that we can move on with the most positive mind possible."

"Positive mind?" Felia hissed. Her amber eyes were glowing at him and for a moment, Levantia wondered if she was going to pound on him and rip his heart out for saying that word. "Is that your priority right now? Is that all your pathetically narrow mind could come up with at a time like this? Look to the future for once. Can't you see nothing except suffering and damnation awaits us along the path we share with them? Take your eyes to the past. Has there been any interaction between anyone and the Dark Eldar ever turned out well for both? My Craftworld only asked for help from the druchii because they failed to anticipate how quickly they could turn from friends into enemy, and you are making the same mistake here."

"I will test my luck with that," Levantia replied. The Craftworld Eldar always looked to the distant past and distant future to base their decision, a trait that had so far made them difficult to predict, if not unreliable and untrustworthy by factions who valued the present more. This was one of the many things he found annoying about them. The past had already come to pass and no reason to cry over spilled milk. The future could not be ascertain, not even by the most skilled Farseer. How could they, based on such dubious reasoning, expect other races to appreciate their motives?

"And what if Lileath is not supportive of you?" asked Felia.

"I am already damned anyway," Levantia replied after some thoughts. "Anything that would improve my position, even if it is only for a short while, is welcome in my book. I am in no place to argue for anything better, and neither do you."

Felia felt silent for a few seconds. Inhaling and exhaling deeply as if to purge the frustration from her mind, she finally said, "If this is the path you insistently choose, then I have no choice but to let it be and follow until either it ends or we are no longer on the same branch of fate. But be warned, trust cannot result in friendship or mutuality when it is one-sided."

"I will try to remember that," Levantia replied as he tried to keep up with the Dark Eldar which Felia followed suit while staying as close to him as possible. Darelyn was up ahead still arguing with the other Trueborn, their voices getting louder despite the danger they could pose. None of the other Dark Eldar interfered, and, as much as he felt the urge to tell them to tone down, Levantia thought it may be best to let them settle this themselves. Different culture required different approach.

The group was making their way across the dark corridors, flayed skins, decapitated heads in gruesomely preserved states and other grotesque war trophies lining up the hallway as usual. This was joined by organic matters attached to walls, floor and ceiling that Darelyn identified as not a design of the ship and Levantia, being a seasoned fighter, confirmed to be of Tyranid origin. Felia was particularly frightened by them, claiming them to be alive in a way and brimming with ravenous desires. No doubt within them contained weak synapse organs to improve combat performance of individual creatures despite not being enough to keep them in line should no synapse creature was nearby. In other words, the hive ship was attempting to infest this place, making it a more favorable battleground for its army.

So far, they had only encountered the Tyranids twice and in both times they were nothing but mindless scuttling creatures desperately searching for a synapse creature for guidance. Upon being attacked, these Tyranids barely fought back and mostly fled. The group killed what they can but did not pursuit; there were just too many to make a difference, not to mention doing so risked being lured into an unexpected ambush. Despite the Eternity of Torment being alien environment to them, despite the multitude of traps and protective mechanisms it possessed, the Tyranids seemed to have made a nest out of this place.

As always, the xenos' pace proved far too fast for him to keep up without running or walking in an awkward manner. Even Felia looked rather displeased having to keep pace with him. The more disturbing thing he suddenly found was the fact his footsteps were the only thing audible aside from the frequent conversations, something he failed to notice when travelling in group with other overseers. Felia was wearing just socks, so that was alright. However, the Dark Eldar must have been made of cotton or something, for how anyone could walk in those armored boots on metallic floor without making a single noise was beyond him.

The journey went uneventfully on for a few minutes until Darelyn suddenly broke from her conversation with the other Trueborn, rushed towards Levantia and buried her face into his chest, much to the shock of both him and the Farseer nearby. Though he was sweating like a pig from all the fighting and running, Levantia felt something wetting his shirt from the outside: tears. He returned the embrace as soon as he realized she was visible sobbing. Not a good place to display such kind of emotion, he thought.

"Darelyn, calm down," Levantia spoke to her. "What is going on?"

The Trueborn which Darelyn just had a debate with shouted at them as he banged his fist against the wall. Darelyn shot back with a stream of Eldar words which Levantia did not understand but the poisonous tone used by both was not a good indicator. If they showed any restraint before, all was going to hell now. Worse still, they were making too much noise and the group was not the only one hunting around here. As before, the remaining Dark Eldar stayed out of this.

"That bastard, that son of a bitch," Darelyn moaned. "He treats me like I am his toy, like I am a tool that can speak."

"Darelyn, I am begging you, you must stop shouting right now or we are all screwed," Levantia said as he held her tightly to his chest and brushed her dark hair with one of his hands. "We are in a warzone here, remember that. The noises you are making will only help to attract the Tyranids to our position."

"Alright," she replied sheepishly. "I will do what you say."

The other Trueborn continued his rasping voice. What he said clearly hurt Darelyn, as she pressed head face into Levantia and sobbed. Though filled with anger at his treatment of her, Levantia refrained himself from using overt force. This was a different culture after all, and different culture required different approach. Perhaps this was common among the Dark Eldar. Maybe they were masochists who liked to be physically and mentally hurt from time to time. It was not within his right to judge anyone based on his human values.

But one thing remained: the need for survival. It did not matter he was human or Dark Eldar, the noise he made was uncharacteristic and a threat to everyone. Pissed off or not, he had no right to put other people at risk.

"And tell him to calm down too," he told her.

Darelyn spoke something to the Trueborn who replied in Eldar language, this time addressing at Levantia. Though his knowledge of the xeno tongue was limited to mostly nothing, he found whatever message he received an important one and that it would be helpful if he were to know. Previously, the only Dark Eldar who ever spoke to him directly were the ones using Low Gothic: Darelyn, Crox, one of his Wracks and the Sybarite in charge of the overseers.

"What did he say about me?" Levantia asked.

"He told you to have a piece of swine shit and sprinkle it with Ork toe jam," Darelyn replied, her casual tone making it sound even more disturbing.

Wow, that was helpful!

"Damn it, is there any way this asshole can get more annoying?" asked Levantia, irritated. "Is he always this kind of prick even when not under life-or-death kind of pressure?"

"You have no idea," Darelyn replied.

"Is he not your boyfriend or anything?"

Darelyn cringed. "A friend of mine? Somewhat true somewhat the opposite. A boy? Absolutely not. More like a sullen child."

One of the Dark Eldar seemed to have gathered his common sense and realized the danger as well. He seized the Trueborn in the shoulder and attempted to talk to him. As he did so, the Trueborn snapped and drew his weapon at him, shouting maniacally. Instinctively, everyone else aimed their weapons at the enraged elite, except for Levantia and Darelyn who were occupied with one another and Felia who had no weapon to begin with. Outnumbered, the Trueborn looked clearly frightened at the prospect of fighting a battle he could not hope to win, but his pride got the better of him as he waved his shardcarbine about frantically like a dog bearing his teeth to protect its chewing bone.

Disappointed and fearful about how the situation was turning out, Levantia turned to the Farseer for some help. "Felia, can you neutralize him before he does something stupid, or before I do and shoot him the face?"

"I can surely try," Felia agreed. She stepped forward, the tip of her gloved fingers glowing, and prepared to cast a spell on the maddened Trueborn.

"No, you stay out of this, witch," Darelyn protested. "I may enjoy his presence as much as you do, but solving it with magic is the worse option ever. If he realizes he has been put under a spell, he would go berserk on all of us, and no one would be alright. That is if he does not succumb to daemonic thirst before that."

"So, any suggestion?" Levantia asked again.

Before anyone could respond, a shimmering green energy beam was fired at the group. One of the Dark Eldar, the one that tried to stop the Trueborn earlier, was hit dead-on. In a millisecond, he was atomized without anything left to indicate he had been something that ever existed in the first place. The shock of his macabre demise carried through the group and panicked shouts erupted, followed by weapons being raised in the direction where the beam came from. Even the haughty Trueborn turned his weapon at the most pressing threat.

A Tyranid appeared at the end of the corridor. It possessed no limbs and instead floated in midair like a freakish balloon. Such was the size of its synapse organ that it outgrew whatever little chitinous carapace it had and took up two-thirds of the dead.

"Tyranid psyker," Levantia called out, remembering the horror he faced during the cleansing of the planet Idareus. "Zoanthrope." Whether the Dark Eldar realized that he had no idea, for neither Felia nor Darelyn bothered to translate this time.

Another Zoanthrope appeared, its baleful presence sending waves of terror into the mind of Levantia as well as the Dark Eldar nearby. A swarm of Hormagaunts accompanied the two synapse creatures, rushing at the group who were at this point impaired by the psychic power of the Hive Mind. Only Felia managed to resist the effect. Focusing on her power, she blew the charging monstrosities with eldritch blasts.

Levantia fell to the floor. For a moment, he felt everything was lost and this hopeless charade could not go on any further. To fight against the Tyranid was to fight the behemoth that had devoured entire worlds and driven entire species into extinction. Destroying them was tantamount to drinking every single drop of water in an ocean. No matter how many times they are beaten, no matter how many times they are repelled, the Tyranids would always come back, more powerful and numerous than ever before. His fate and the fate of every sentient being in this galaxy were sealed the moment the Hive Fleets began to enter. It was all over.

But it was not. Years of training and mentality hardening kicked in and Levantia lashed out at the lies the Hive Mind was trying to make him believe. On Idareus, the Tyranids were effectively wiped out from the surface of the planet after two weeks of fighting. By destroying spawning pools and biomass stores with artillery and selective destruction of synapse creatures, the forces of the Imperium were able to secure a major victory against the swarm. Levantia was there to witnessed it all. As the Tyranids evolved and adapted, its enemies also grew stronger from conflicts, developing new weapons and tactics to counter everything they could possibly unleash. The Tyranids were far from invincible like they used be to when they first entered the galaxy and all the incumbent factions were too busy waging war against one another to notice them. Now was the time for them to be the hunted, the one driven into extinction. Now was time their hunger came to an end.

Murmuring "Emperor protect me!", Levantia managed to recollect himself from the Hive Mind's influence, though incessant scribbling continued to rang over his ears. His picked up his weapon and aimed it at the Zoanthropes. These psychic monstrosities had thick shield covering them, so the only way to defeat them without overwhelming firepower was to wait for them to exhaust their energy and strike them down before they could regenerate.

Another beam was fired, the not-so-Darelyn-boyfriend Trueborn its the intended target. Struck by the same horrifying effect as Levantia, the Dark Eldar was motionless in the face of imminent death. Then, he made an abrupt move and pulled the next Kabalite Warrior to him and used him as cover. The Warrior evaporated into thin air, leaving the Trueborn paralyzed, but unharmed.

Levantia took the opportunity as the Zoanthrope lowered its shield to fire the Warp Lance and opened up with his splinter rifle. Despite the Hive Mind clawing at his brain, his aim was firm. Hit multiple times, the Zoanthrope shuddered and went down. The backlash it caused was amplified by its psychic powers, blowing a dozen nearby Hormagaunts to chutney and knocking down even more. Those that survived immediately jumped to their feet and carried on, still under synapse from the other Zoanthrope.

Then, the second Zoanthrope exploded in a spectacular manner, gore and innards splattering in all directions. Those remaining Hormagaunts were not consumed by the psychic detonation that was its death were slain as their synapse connection was abruptly severed.

Levantia could sense the presence of the Hive Mind receding from his head. Picking up himself and Darelyn who was down the whole time but recovering now, he looked to the Farseer wearing a mischievous grin on her face.

"Its mind was not strong enough," she commented.

"Glad to have you with us," Levantia said back.

"Do not gloat, Craftworlder," Darelyn snarled. "You have not proven anything yet. If you think we would start showing you respect just because you blow up a Zoanthrope, plug that idea into your ass and sulk it."

"Your attitude is equivalent to a child," Felia said in a mocking tone. "No, that would be an insult to children. A toddler would be a more appropriate way to describe the way you act and speak."

"Why you...?" Darelyn shook herself from Levantia and approached to Farseer with murderous intent.

"Now is not the time," Levantia chimed in. The other Dark Eldar had also regained full consciousness from the foul mind trick of the Tyranids. The Trueborn which Darelyn argued earlier turned his back on the group, looking rather pissed with the fact his allies had turned against him though for the very least, he was no longer hostile.

"Indeed, this is not," Felia echoed. "A fresh wave of the Great Devourer minions is coming for us, seeking our flesh and blood. We are too exposed here. The corridors are small so they will not be able to come us in large number, but that limits our flexibility as well. We need to move to a better position to engage them."

"Let's do what she says," Levantia spoke briskly. It did not require all those training and combat experience for him to know that these corridors provided only a temporary advantage. As the Tyranids started to bring in range weapons, especially flamers and spraying types, there would be no room for them to avoid them.

"Whatever," Darelyn replied grudgingly. She talked to her comrades who nodded in approval. Her nose crinkled and her brows raised when she addressed the other Trueborn. He spoke nothing.

A throaty howl caught everyone's attention. It was coming from just around the corner at the next corridor intersection. The Tyranids had made attempts to be stealthy so far. It was uncharacteristic that they were to make their presence known in advance for their preys unless the Hive Mind considered them to be little more than sports and thought that this detachment of creatures would surely bring an end to them.

"My divination predicts a very small chance we can win this fight," Felia said, which pretty much confirmed Levantia's fear. Her voice was remarkably calm, which might have been as a result of her training as a Farseer to be able to handle the possible future, even direst ones, with a degree of sangfroid. Sometimes, Levantia found that really vexatious. The less she expressed, the more he needed to deduct. "We must flee."

Another deafening sound erupted. It was coming closer.

"Move, now!" Levantia shouted and sprinted towards the opposite direction. Felia and Darelyn followed suit as quickly as they were parts of his body. The remaining Dark Eldar did not need to be warned and were already on their feet the moment the first of the creatures stepped out.

Levantia was running for his life. Before, when the Dark Eldar joined forces with the overseers, they had kept their speed low despite their reluctance in order for the overseers to catch up so that the xenos would not be exposed to enemy attack without support. There were no "overseers" here now, just Levantia the only sluggish human around. If he could not keep pace with the rest of the xenos, he would be as good as dead.

Nine of them dashed through the corridor, avoiding the carcasses as they went. All the corridors in this level on this ship looked almost the same, probably intent on confusing whoever boarding it and luring them into deathtraps. The hallway was without light but the children of the Dark City had no problem navigating. Felia, guided by her foresight, moved through the obstacles easily though she still stayed as close to Levantia as possible. Even with his lantern, Levantia continued to bump into objects and other people against his will. Nevertheless, he was somewhat glad when he bumped into someone, for it meant he was not lagging behind.

One of the Dark Eldar barked something at him when he accidentally kicked him in the lower calf from behind. Levantia did not wish to know what that meant, no matter how important it was.

At the next junction where the path split into two, as argument broke out among the Dark Eldar over which route they would take. The debate would have lasted longer had the Tyranid pursuers not shown themselves, three Warriors, one of which clearly twice the size of others. Levantia recognized the leader was one of the Prime strain, the most powerful non-monstrous creature Tyranids there were. With the battle taking place inside a ship, this was undoubtedly the better synapse-commander choice than the hulking Hive Tyrant and Tervigon that would have a hard time moving through the narrow corridors.

The xenos finally made up their mind and headed left, Levantia having no choice but to follow; whichever way the same to him, as long as they got him further from these ravenous horrors, he was glad to take.

"Hold!" Darelyn shouted in Low Gothic and then in her own language as she came to a sudden halt. Levantia immediately stopped in his track and Felia did the same. The other Dark Eldar were a bit slower but managed in time. "A series booby trap is just ahead of us. I will try to disable it."

"Then you had better do it fast," Levantia urged. As he noticed, this segment of the ship, probably the equivalent of the Dark Eldar to the living quarter on board any Imperial ship, was less laden with traps compared to the mechanical areas near the place where the overseers dwelt. On the other hand, the traps here were also concentrated into one spot unlike the mechanical areas where they were more dispersed. Levantia did not know why there were patterns like this, but he could guess this served some kind of a barrier or a border between regions and the residence had no intent of letting others freely trespass into their own territory. "Because we have got company. And they are REALLY hungry."

"Don't rush me," Darelyn pouted. She pulled out a device not different from the one used by the Sybarite attached to the overseers earlier. As she clicked on its runes, the remaining members formed a protective parameter ready to repel the incoming assault.

"They are here, very close to us right now," Felia cautioned. "I can feel their hunger overwhelming all senses and driving them frenzy. It is our destruction and assimilation they are after, and they would not stop unless our fate is such."

The first strike came in the form of a staff-like projectile being hurled at them. It was much larger and slow-moving compared to other munitions being fired so far. Fully able-bodied this time, the Dark Eldar whom the target was slipped aside to avoid it, sneering in the process. His smile quickly faded when the projectile abruptly changed its course and penetrated through his body like a knife through paper before stopping just as its tip stabbed into the abdomen of another.

To Levantia's horror, that another was Darelyn. Her eyes opened in wide terror as she looked at the blood gushing out from her injury. Levantia caught her as she collapsed, coughing blood. As he looked back at what had just been shot at them, he saw a small creature was attached to the base of the projectile, the one that controlled its direction. It expired afterward.

More shots were fired but with less accuracy then before. The Tyranids responsible for the attack had expanded its element of surprise and the Dark Eldar, knowing the projectile would always tried to steer towards them, evaded at the eleven hour where it was too late for the steering creature to respond.

+Two steps to the left,+ a voice rang out inside Levantia's head which he immediately reckoned as Felia. Knowing the Farseer was forewarning him of imminent danger, he did as he was told without delay, carrying Darelyn with him. No sooner he got out of the way then the projectile flew pass where he once stood. Levantia sighed in relief at having escaped danger. +No time for slacking. Three steps to the right. Then duck. Then rollover to the left exactly eleven feet and three inches.+

Performing all these maneuvers was exhausting in its own right. Clutching Darelyn in his arms while doing so made it even more sapping. When Felia deducted these maneuvers, she did not mean them to be done while holding someone else. Levantia could hardly blame her for this.

Another Dark Eldar lost his head to the impaler munition and another was pulverized after struck three times in a row. The group was down to seven now, and one of them was not in a position to fight back, not that they could do anything against an enemy that was not within line of sight to begin with. Whoever firing these ordnance was using the advantage of their homing missiles to strike while remaining hidden from enemy view.

The shooting stopped, whether they had run out of ammo or the risk of friendly fire had become prevalent Levantia did not know, but immediately so, two Warriors led by the Prime from earlier burst into the corridor and made a beeline towards the group. They had no range weapons, bred entirely to slaughter their foe in close combat.

"We need to go, now," Felia said urgently.

"Some traps...have not been...deactivated," Darelyn gargled. Levantia tore open another piece of his garment to cover her abdomen and stem the bleeding. The wound was deep and serious, blood seeping through and wetting his gloved hand.

"Leave her," Felia cried desperately. "It's not worth risking your life for a druchii."

The Dark Eldar fired back at the Warriors with little success. Toxic grenades were tossed out but the mucus the Warriors were drenched in seemed to dissolve the acid and prevent damage to the carapace. The Warrior Prime crashed into them and trampled one beneath its feet. Its crackling bonesword hacked down two more before its two comrades joined the melee. The whole thing would have become a bloodbath had the Farseer not intervened.

Felia shot a beam from her hand which threw one of the Warriors flying twenty feet back. The creature only took slight injury and got back on its feet charging and grunting almost immediately. A shimmering force field was created by the Farseer to block the advance of the Tyranid Warrior trio who pounded on it furiously. As Levantia watched, it would not last long and Felia was growing weaker from expanding her power, blood dripping from her nose.

The Dark Eldar stood their ground for a while, but seeing how their weapon was completely ineffective against the Warrior Prime, they became despondent, turned tail and fled. Despite her anguish, Darelyn reached out with her hand at the Trueborn who she once had an argument with, begging him something which indicated they did have a relationship together. The Trueborn did not even looked back as he ran, leaving Darelyn teary and heart-broken as she seized and shook Levantia violently. Before shot, Darelyn had disabled enough of the traps that the Dark Eldar were able to move through without casualties despite a few trap doors to Emperor-knew-where being opened and hidden splinter rifles firing.

Felia cried at them in vain. She was holding for now, but the Warriors were pushing her back inch by inch. Eventually, they would break through the shield and there was nothing left to stop them. If the Dark Eldar had manned up, let go of their prejudice and assisted her, things might have been different, though that was a dubious conclusion at best. Now she was alone in this fight with no hope of winning.

While such cowardice was not tolerated among the Imperial Guards - not even Archon Feharuln would be happy if he found out his troops deserted from combat, Levantia felt hopeless at the situation. Carrying Darelyn to safety was out of the question at this point, for that would slow him down significantly and even without the extra weight, he doubted he could ever outrun a Tyranid Warrior. He could run away by himself. Felia might be able to buy him enough time for that. But what was the point in that? To continue his existence when the ones he cared and loved died because of his inadequacy was something he could not live with.

Felia was annoying and stubborn at times, but she reminded him of what was left of his humanity. He had emotionally invested in her to the point he could not simply abandon her. She lent her help to him against the Tyranid, and now she was the only person who stood between him and inescapable death.

Darelyn was a Dark Eldar and a villain. However, Levantia had seen her more tender, more human-like side. For all he cared, she was no less than any woman blessed by the Holy Emperor. At first, he wished to end her life so that her innocence could be untainted, but he changed his mind afterwards. Without her, many of tricks that had allowed him to survive so long would have gone unnoticed.

Wait a minute!

A spark of hope shot out of Levantia's mind. If he could not defeat the Warriors using conventional methods, he could always rely on tricks to do so.

"Darelyn, this device can deactivate traps, can it activate them instead?" he asked as he picked up the console and handed it to her.

"Yes," Darelyn replied weakly. Her dark eyes met him and they knew they were on the same wavelength.

"Is the Great Folly among them?"

Darelyn grinned with a bloodied mouth. "Of course." She got right into business after that.

The barrier finally collapsed. Exhausted from energy usage, the Farseer dropped to the ground as the three Warriors fell upon her. No more psychic power left to defend herself, Felia shut her eyes tight and accepted her fate.

"Over here, you sons of bitches," Levantia shouted, firing at the Warrior Prime. Splinter weapons were useless at this point. If penetrating its thick carapace was hard enough, the creature received further protection in the form a strange layer mucus that prevented corrosion against its hide. "Leave her alone and come to me instead."

One of the Warriors turned its attention to Levantia, poised to assault. Its charge was stopped when the Prime hissed at it as if to inform this was its personal prey and nobody was allowed to get the glory. Most Tyranids would not bother, but synapse creatures had more self-control and independence, being able to operate even without the Hive Mind guidance. As a result, not all of them were completely nonchalant to this kind of challenge. Levantia was ready for this.

Roaring, the Prime pounced at him while its two bodyguards stood and watched. Levantia was familiar with this pattern of attack. He had a brief second to make his move and he took it, diving underneath the creature as it leaped above him. Before the creature could turn around to renew its effort, something caught its attention.

The original design was a disgusting black mass of goo place on a tray, but from his perspective, Levantia saw a cake covered in chocolate cream, sprinkled and topped with a cherry the size of a bowling ball, which was the reason why the Great Folly was given the nicknamed by him as super-delicious cake with a poisonous twist. This was without a shadow of doubt the most iconic, most famous and most deadly trap across the entirety of the Eternity of Torment. The effect was both physical and psychological. It was meant for the victims to see their favorite food displayed in the most welcoming manner imaginable. Chemicals were released and buzzing holograms appeared to cause hallucination and entice the taste buds of the victims as much as possible. Psychic disruptors were employed to prevent a psyker from seeing the true nature of the wicked dish. Compared to other traps so far which were average, standard, mediocre, sometimes outright terrible, this was the epitome of creative cruelty.

The Great Folly was widely known by everyone including overseers who were taught the glorious history of the Kabal and why they should feel proud to be in its service as opposed to the corrupted, rundown, crumbling Imperium of Man. At least one Archon had succumbed to the Great Folly at some point. During the battle of Sharakraz, the Ork Warboss Gutkicka and his Meganobz boarded the Eternity of Torment and stormed through its corridors, unleashing utter carnage (the Dark Eldar never spared any gory detail, even if it was their own) before slewing to a halt by this very trap. Gutkicka murdered his bodyguards in gluttonous rage and then himself died to the poison.

The Warrior Prime removed itself from its original target and headed straight for the trap. As it did, Levantia wondered what it was seeing that made it so hungry for. Such information might be extremely helpful for the overall war effort against the Great Devourer - their favorite food.

Levantia resisted the influence. This was more arduous than the Zoanthrope psychic power earlier. The knowledge this was a trap was half the battle, but not enough. He needed some stimulant so powerful it would overwhelm, or at least lessen the part of his brain screaming for him to let his desire take over and eat that delicious chocolate cake that looked exactly the one his mother made for him using all the savings she gathered for a year for his eighth birthday. Ah, his eighth birthday. The first time he ever celebrated a birthday. How nostalgic. He could already feel as sweet cream melt inside his mo...

_No, no, no, no, no!_

I should now have those thoughts, he reminded himself. There was no other way. Levantia stabbed himself through the palm with his knife. The pain was blinding and with it, the hunger lessens. The sight of his own blood was enough to discourage him from adding anything to his stomach.

The other two Warriors, also affected by the Great Folly, shot forward, avoiding the sprawling human and Eldar in their wake. Not even the Hive Mind providing enough influence to make them refractory against the effect, the three creatures began battling one another for the illusive ultimate prize. Whoever did not die to the blades would meet its end by poisoning.

"Looks...so good," said Felia, rising up. To Levantia's horror, her amber eyes were blank as they fixed themselves onto the tray of chocolate cake, or whatever version of delicious food she was seeing right now. Though the Tyranids were fighting over it, there seemed to be plenty for everyone. There was even enough cake for...

_NOOOO!_

"Felia, don't!" Levantia cried as he tried to stop her. "This is not real. It is all an illusion, a trap. If you eat it, you will die."

Felia shot him back with her psychic power, saying in monotone, "Mother made it for me with all her love and care. I have the right to induce myself on it. You can't take it away from me."

Levantia found it pointless to argue with her. It had always been pointless to argue with someone from the Craftworld. Great Folly or not did not matter. The "noble" Eldar were too mulish to change their way, too recalcitrant to be convinced of anything, and lacking those common senses needed to see through situations like normal people.

The time for talking was over!

So he pulled her over and kissed her instead.

This was the first time he had done this, having his tongue inside somebody else's body. Maybe he should have given in to those prostitutes; who knew that kind of experience might have proven helpful in this kind of situation? Her mouth was wet and warm (not different from that of a human). The feeling as his tongue rubbed against hers could be described as engrossing as it immediately became the focal point of all of his sensations. As far as he was concerned, none of the substance inside her mouth was toxic to humans.

That moment lasted longer than it should. A part of Levantia was screaming for cessation on grounds of being outside wedlock which was not encouraged by the Imperial Creed and punishable by the Astra Militarum and the fact he was kissing someone who was not even human. Humans kissed when they felt passionate and in love, but no such passion or love existed, at least not yet, between Felia and Levantia. They were still two individuals clinging together for the purpose of survival. For him, she was the last barrier to maintain his humanity, his final hope for a decent life even as a lowly slave. How important he was to her remained a mystery to him as the Farseer had been rather discrete at some points and blatantly expressive in others. Nevertheless, if it was human instinct to consider this kind of mouth-to-mouth action that did not involve blowing air into someone's lung of exceptional significance, the same may hold for the Eldar as well. Felia's eyes remained emotionless for a while, and just when Levantia began to feel skeptical regarding his approach and thought about a more drastic measure such as biting her tongue, they flared up. Astonished, embarrassed, awkward, incandescent.

She slapped him in the face. Hard. Really hard, in fact. It made that Hormagaunt fight earlier in the cafeteria look like pillow bashing. Levantia fell back and put a hand on his ached cheek, blood trickling from his lips.

"Do you have any idea what you just did?" the Eldar screeched. She maddeningly waved her hand around. Apparently, the blow had been painful to her as well. "Do you filthy despicable human even have the slightest idea how insulting or how disgraceful it is for an Eldar to have that happen to them? Not even Archon Feharuln - mark this day as I put him on a positive note - has ever done that to me. Not even HIM! And you low-life mammal have the gut to!"

"What is there to get so messed up all of a sudden?" Levantia explained. "It's just a kiss. I had to snap you out of that trance otherwise you would have been dead."

"You creep!" Felia exclaimed accusingly. "Perverted creep! You are a slut, a whore!"

"Those are Low Gothic words used to describe women," Levantia retorted.

"I don't care! Such disgusting, sexist language for a bunch of perverted barbarians!"

"I will not have you insult my beautiful language."

"What does it matter? I am as good as dead anyway, but before I finally join my ancestors, I will make sure to inflict great pain to those who have wronged me. You are first!"

"You think I would have done that if I had another choice?" Levantia asked. "It was that or getting stabbed."

"You should have just killed me instead," Felia growled. "Instead, you molested me. You destroyed my virginity. You bring shame upon myself and my family bloodline. Who do you think you are anyway? Now I can never marry to anyone for the rest of my life, and my race needs more babies than ever."

Felia continued her harangue. Levantia felt awkward about this. To be fair, he never thought he would get away with it without some trouble, but this was more than what he had bargained for. Luckily, Darelyn had passed out from the injury. If she were still conscious, Emperor knew how she would react.

But on the bright side, all three Warriors including the Prime were dead. The tray was empty and the trap's effect worn off. The Great Folly had lived up to its name and worked its miracle once more. This was a huge blow to the Tyranid war effort, losing one of their sub-commanders and powerful synapse creatures. Killing a few hundred Hormagaunts and the Hive Fleet would simply spawn more. The loss of a Warrior Prime, on the other hand, was not to be replaced so easily. For the first time since this battle started, Levantia felt he had achieved a real, worthwhile victory. He felt elated and uplifted at the evidence to challenge the Tyranid invincibility.

Felia tried slapping him in the face again as his attention drifted away from her. This time, he managed to catch her hand. She struggled, but he held her with an unyielding grip. As their eyes locked together, Felia's amber orbs began to slacken, acknowledging the fact she was no match for this human in a contest of strength. Realizing he was seizing her wrist too hard and might be hurting her, Levantia softened his hand and allowed the Farseer to pull back hers. Felia slumped next to a wall, exhausted and looking as though she was going to faint any moment.

"Murder me," she pleaded. Tears flowed like two waterfalls on her hot red cheeks. "And make it quick, too. I can't handle the pain."

Levantia sighed deeply at her request.

_Back to square one again._

_Awesome._

* * *

**_Author's note: They finally did it. They finally did what other Eldar x human stories have never had them do before. If you are long time fans of the genre, it is time to rejoice. Other than that, I hope you are not feeling this is a bit slow. It is a romance, after all, so we need to establish and develop the relationships as naturally as possible. Some parts of a chapter might refer to a detail in a previous one, which you might want to read all chapters carefully to find out. For example, the Great Folly was not first mentioned in this chapter, but was hinted a long way back._**

**_This is the longest story I have ever written so far. Thank you all for you support. I am always willing to make changes if anyone points out I did something wrong or could have done it better. I get really annoyed when people I review discard my criticism entirely and even more so when they try to defend their stories to the death. I have no time for such pointless debate._**

_**Anyway, this might be a little late but Happy New Year. I wish you all a good year for writing and reading.**_


	10. Chapter 10: Desires

Time was running out.

Within the corpse-hold, he could sense the dying of the Hive Mind and with that, the eventual collapse of its synapse network. If he were to succeed in collecting these gene-seeds of fallen Space Marines, the stranger must do so with haste.

Weakened, dilapidated, disjointed and caught by surprise, the Kabal of the Shadow Talon was still more than a match for a mere wandering splinter of a major Hive Fleet that had been defeated decades ago. Already, the guns of its Flagship, the Eternity of Torment, were scoring critical hits against the Hive Ship now that its shell had been completely eroded away. Without proper shielding, the Tyranid fleet was terrible in void combat and heavily relying on their capacity to produce an army to board the opposition ships.

Though his most hated enemy would be the victor this day, he was not in the least upset. Sooner or later, all Dark Eldar on board this ship would meet their end and he would be there to carry it out himself. The Tyranids were not meant to be a serious threat, at least not on an overall level, but instead as both a bait to lure the rest of the Kabal stationed within its main base in Commorragh to the upcoming slaughterhouse. It was also a distraction so that he could have room to perform this one honorable deed amongst all the sinister things he was orchestrating: recovering Astartes Progenoid Glands.

The Kabal of the Shadow Talon tried to evade the presence of Space Marines who possessed little to expropriate and much to cause harm in general, but they never shirk to fight when they knew the odds were in their favor. And with the treasonous Farseer working alongside them, the odds were indeed in their favor a lot of times. Whether victorious of bested, the Kabal always brought back corpses and slaves to their ship, their dead staying dead and those who survived growing ever richer with each raid. No Space Marine, Loyalist or Chaos, had ever bowed down before the Dark Eldar, so unsurprisingly all those who made it to the Eternity of Torment ended up either as grisly decorations in the hallways, lab samples of the Haemonculus, or right here, about to be used in the manufacturing of a variety of products.

The task was both strenuous and mentally demanding. Throw him against a mob of Orks and he could deal with them in less than ten seconds, but without the right tool and right techniques which he half-forgot after being out of practice for too long, it took an hour or more just to successfully remove one piece of vital organ and put it inside the conditioner tube. There was no other way how this process could have been faster or less painful. Even though all suits of Power Armor were gone, cutting through the body of a superhuman while trying not to damage certain parts was nothing to sneeze at.

Despite enhanced vision provided by his helmet, the lack of light was detrimental to his operation which an enormous amount of precision was needed. Moreover, he could not discern which body belonged to a Loyalist and which one was a Traitor unless he examined it carefully. Depending on how much damage the body had sustained before and after death as well as how much it had been altered by preservatives, the Progenoid Glands might not be in a shape that was fit to be harvested. The pungent essence of the place only made the matter worse, the utterly horrendous smell causing his stomach to churn inside out.

This kind of task reminded him of the time he spent on the Shrine World of Fortunia where he was required to lit every single candle in its largest cathedral with only matches, and there were more than fifteen thousands of them in all. It took the stranger two sleepless days to complete the task. Only after finishing his work did he realize the significance of his endeavor and how rewarding the whole experience was. Sometimes, great acts arose out of patience and persistence in the belief that something was holy and that it must come to pass no matter the inconvenience.

A seismic wave shook the interior of the ship, sending several bodies flying and crashing on top of him. He knew what just happened, not the Hive Ship had delivered a grievous blow, but the primary Webway portal had been opened to herald the coming of a new wave reinforcement. The entirety of the Kabal of the Shadow Talon was pouring from the other side to relieve their brethren.

All part of the plan.

He needed to go into hiding now before the Dark Eldar began a full inspection of the ship to hunt down the last of the Tyranids. Within the deepest, uncharted shadows of the Eternity of Torment, within its long forgotten hallways and empty compartments - places inevitably coming into existence once the ship got big and changed hands enough, he would find sanctuary while plotting his next move to usurp its current masters.

Eleven intact sets were collected - twenty-one Progenoid Glands in total. That meant eleven Space Marines would have their legacy preserved and transferred to the next generation, eleven more superhumans joining the war against the forces of Disorder, eleven more reasons to believe victory was close. Though there were still more that would have to be wasted for there was no other choice, he thought this was still a good catch. Getting all of these back to their respective Chapters might take years, decades, even centuries, but ultimately, they would be returned one way or another.

And with that, the stranger disappeared into the shadow once more.

Observing.

Waiting.

For his vengeance to come.

* * *

Felia finally shut up as impalers started flying again. With the Warrior Prime and its bodyguards dead, the Tyranids had recommenced their barrage. For other factions, this might have been an act of retribution for the killing of their commander, but Levantia doubted the Tyranids even cared for such concept as "retribution". They were firing again because it was feasible now that the risk of friendly-fire on a high-value unit had been eradicated, ironically by its own demise.

The Farseer raised her psychic shield and deflected some of them while Levantia grabbed Darelyn and dived for cover. The Impalers were slow-moving by comparison with other forms of munitions to allow the guiders to change their direction, thus leaving little room for evasion and enabling the firer to attack from without line of sight. Steadying his rifle, Levantia aimed for the creatures positioned at the end the projectiles. His gamble immediately proved futile and despite his best effort, no hits were made. While the projectiles were slow enough to be discerned, the way they rotated rapidly on their axis would have prevented even the finest marksman from scoring hits against the creatures embedded in them. How they remained straight without getting dizzy just from spinning like that was confusing enough, the way these guiders relentlessly continued to perform their duty until the very end more than even the most loyal Guardsmen with such scant life-span caused Levantia to question the concept of universal logic that could apply to everything in this galaxy.

The Farseer's psychic barrier held for now. But she had exhausted herself substantially repelling the Warriors earlier. A quick glance told Levantia she was going to faint soon.

"We cannot keep this forever," he said to Felia. "Let's go. I have no idea where we are heading, but the sooner we get away from this enemy which we have no chance against, the sooner we can have some form of respite. I would rather take on something that is not shooting out of the line of sight."

"What you say carries wisdom," Felia concurred. "Your path shall be mine as well."

As Levantia picked up Darelyn and put her on his shoulders in the same manner he would carry any wounded comrade away from the battlefield, the Farseer bristled. "Leave her. She is a sack of rock, of no help except slowing us down. Without speed our survival is unfeasible. We cannot risk that."

"Without her, you and I would all have been dead," Levantia replied. He did not feel like arguing right now. The situation was dire enough without Felia bitching around. "I am not abandoning either of you behind. She is coming, whether you like it or not."

"You would risk your life - OUR life for this one Druchii?"

"Yes," Levantia answered flatly. "That is what I would do."

"Such stubbornness," Felia sighed in withdrawal. "How typical of a human."

Levantia ran first and Felia followed, her psychic shield still blazing behind her. This area was a minefield. Darelyn had not deactivated all of the traps nor did the Dark Eldar who rushed through activate the last one of them, but aside from the Great Folly whose effect had already worn off, the other ones did not live up to that high standards. Truth to be told, they could entangle, maim, injure and even kill unsuspecting wanderers, but for someone who knew of their existence they were of minor threat. Further forewarned by Felia's power to predict the future, Levantia leaped across trap doors, ducked beneath swinging blades and ran for blind spots of automatic sentries.

The two ran for a while across the corridor until Impalers stopped chasing them. Levantia figured they had made it out of their range and the monstrous shooters decided not to pursue due to the tight corridors blocking their advance. That or they had simply found better fish to fry and decided not to waste ammunition on a couple of stragglers who were running for their lives. Whichever the case, it was a relief now that they were no longer under attack from unseen and unreachable enemies. Tossing a horde of Hormagaunts at him and Levantia felt he could throw back at them. The concept of battling a foe that could not be harmed by any means available was as unappealing as it was disturbing.

"You need to take some rest," Levantia said to Felia, who were wobbling on her two feet. "You must be tired from all the fighting back then."

"I….can go on," the Eldar replied dryly. Levantia offered her a water canteen and she took a deep gulp, ignoring the greasy substance she was pouring into her mouth. "Don't underestimate my stamina, human. We Eldar have had tens of millions of years of biological evolution before we reached this state."

"I am not underestimating anything," Levantia replied and took back the canteen forcefully before she drowns herself. "What you did back then was marvelous, but there is no point pushing yourself if that is detrimental to you."

"I know what is best for myself," Felia argued. Her frail body leaned to one side and nearly lost balance. Levantia reached out with his hand only to receive a slap from her. "And don't you dare touch me with that perverted hand, human. This is what you have been planning all along, isn't it? First, you approach me, pretending to be a nice person, pretending you could offer help to a helpless Eldar lady like me. But you harbor dark desires within you, based, despicable desires all humans possess. And as soon as my guard is down, you move in for the strike."

"You are delirious, are you not?" Levantia asked.

"My mind is as clear as the moon reflection on a calm lake in a cloudless night. You are not to…."

Felia did not say anymore. She dropped to the ground unconscious as fatigue finally got over her. The fact she got to make such long and dragged out sentences despite her exhaustion came as not much of a surprise to Levantia. The Dark Eldar were vain and impractical, but they had their limits and still acted rationally in some ways. Perhaps it was something they did to her or maybe the contrast between living comfortably on the Craftworld and being locked up with no escape in this shithole with cruel people who regularly abused her that cracked Felia a bit.

Or perhaps she was just crazy and all.

Still conveying the Dark Eldar on his back, Levantia was not able to support her delicate body as she fell. He knew this would happen eventually, the Farseer having expended unsustainable amounts of power during the previous engagement out of necessity. For such frail body, she put out more psychic power than any Sanction Psyker Levantia had ever come across, perhaps even greater than even the Lord of Change he once faced against. In truth, Levantia was somewhat glad that she was sleeping now. She pushed herself hard and deserved some rest. Besides, now he would not have to listen to all her complaints anymore.

That being said, he was not foolish to think danger had passed; more likely, it had merely been lessened to certain extents. The death of the Warrior Prime was a blow to the synaptic web, but there was no telling how many controlling creatures were left in this area. Even then, the infestation would provide weak connection to the Hive Mind for the lesser Tyranid bioforms, enough to at least make an effort and only run away when the odds were against them. Moreover, Genestealers could operate normally in the absence of synapse and Levantia recalled he had encountered some of them on board.

Levantia knew he had to move on no matter what, even when the destination unclear and the road ahead filled with threats. Putting an Eldar on each shoulder and the splinter rifle on his back, he decided to continue walking along the pathway. If he could find a room with its door unlocked or any spot to squeeze three people in, that would be a blessing. Carrying both women while keeping on guard for signs of the enemy was a formidable task, but he was reluctant to drag any of them unceremoniously across this filthy blood-soaked uneven floor.

The journey through the hallway was a quiet one. Levantia walked across numerous sites of previous battles but found no bodies this time, just piles of bloodied discarded armor, bone and chitin fragments. Whatever flesh in there had no doubt already been consumed by swarms of Rippers and fed into the spawning pool located somewhere on this ship. The thought of the Tyranids turning the Eternity of Torment into something akin to one of their Hive ships was a truly horrifying one. If the spawning pool could not be destroyed, the Tyranids would potentially have a near limitless supply of reinforcement, bred from the very materials they found on this ship as well as their own fallen troops. Then, there would be no stop to them.

Levantia reassured himself the Dark Eldar were no fools, or at the very least, no bigger fools than he was. The spawning pool would take up massive room and unless the Dark Eldar were so vain as to create unnecessarily large spaces, few places on a ship could accommodate such. In fact, as far as he could tell, the vehicle hangar was the only area capable of being used as staging ground for an entire army. The slave masters would know about this and focus their effort on the spawning pool as soon as it materialized. In other words, the Tyranids would not have their way without the Dark Eldar countering their every plot with extreme prejudice.

As he went on, Levantia felt himself moving slower. He was not immune to fatigue himself and all the weight on his back and shoulder was beginning to become unbearable. Levantia was strong by human standards. He had fought Orks and Tyranids in close quarter combat and came out on top. Thanks to extensive body training, strict diet and some physical and genetic augmentations offered by the Militarum Tempestus, he could say with certainty, despite his incarceration and malnutrition, he was still in better shape than most of the humanity. Any lesser man would have collapsed right here and right now.

Levantia wanted a distraction and found it in the form of artistry laid all around him. Shattered bodies and body pieces decorated the hallway in the most grisly manner imaginable. They were all the same to him now, unrefined, haphazard and gimcrack. For a race that dwelled upon the pain and suffering of others, the Dark Eldar seemed surprisingly slipshod when it came to displaying their achievements in those respect. The reason he could come up with was that artistic mindset, much like in most human societies, did not frequently exist among the lower-class which made up the majority of the Eldar population and most the crew members here. Most Kabalite Warriors fought for the sake of reaping the spoil and once they had it, they did not bother much on what to do with it afterwards. Not that the followers of Chaos he encountered so far had anything to surpass that, safe for one heretical Space Marine warband who worshipped the god (or goddess) of pleasure.

"How shabby," he muttered to himself. "Crox could teach these bastards a thing or two."

Though he hated to admit it as much as he hated to be reminded by his drill operator to fold his uniforms with millimeter precision, he found himself liking the works of Crox. They were evil and gruesome, but they were also some of the most creative forms of suffering inducer he had ever witnessed in his life. Compared to what other Dark Eldar did, they were like angels among pilgrims. For the last few days, Levantia had tried to push that thought out of his head because of how disgusting it was seeing a xeno performing barbarism upon a member of his own kind, but as time passed by, that disgust slowly turned to fascination. He never revealed to his comrades about this, never telling them the exact reason why the Haemonculus would pay close attention to him, never spilling the beans as to why his eyes would always be fixated on certain things on the ship. It was as heretical as it was embarrassing to admit that kind of obscene interest in front of many who were still Emperor-lovers, or pretending to be.

One important part of his background Levantia had consistently ignored when talking about his past was his membership in a hidden cult called The Rejected. Formed by architects and artists whose taste in designing proved too much for the Ecclesiarches and thus were fired from their positions, The Rejected brought together people with talents and desires in arts that would come under censure from the Imperial authority. Despite excommunication, the cult was popular with the populace across many worlds and many of their works were secretly bought at astronomical price by the elite. Levantia joined the cult during his training at the Scholar Progenium. There were five other scholars in the cult, three of which whisked away by the shadowy organization known as Officio Assassinarium.

Of all the exotic types of art, none captivated his imagination more than death. It was a natural process that all beings undergo, to live and then to die. From the normal humans to the super Space Marines, none could escape the circle. However, the scene of someone whose circle had been rudely curtailed by force, displayed with all the glorified vindication of the victory, was a satisfying sight to behold. After graduation, Levantia tried to apply his knowledge in the field by constructing a doll out of teeth freshly pulled from slain Orks and stuck together using digestive chemical from their stomach. This venture ended up badly: the almost finished figurine was confiscated and Levantia flogged. If he were in a Catachan regiment, that would have been considered a nothing-out-of-the-ordinary thing instead of a breach of protocol. Whichever the case, Levantia's obsession had not lessen as he went from one warzone to another seeking artistry in the death and destruction that surrounded him. Previously, he was only delighted upon seeing distress upon the enemies of man, but that time had come to pass and everything was the same to him now.

The baleful arts gave way to infestation as he moved along. This area was bound to have high Tyranid activity. Levantia pondered going back and decided against it. The corridor was one way without detours despite its twists and turns. He did not want to face those impalers again, not with so much weight on him right now.

As he went on, he found himself in what looked to be the stomach of some gargantuan creature. Flesh covered the walls, ceilings and floor like macabre carpets. More unsettling was the way it vibrated, as though a heart was beating somewhere within it. The Dark Eldar grisly trophies were stuffs of nightmare, but at the very least they were dead stuffs, stuffs that could not do any harm other than scaring people. The infestation was somehow alive and gave Levantia the feeling he was being watched constantly by a super-intelligent. Levantia changed his mind. Perhaps facing the impalers were a better option after all.

Some noises shook Levantia out of his trance. Turning around, he saw nothing. However, he could not be sure it was nothing important that he did not see. Carrying two Eldar on his shoulder, he could not pull out his gun. Deducing a withdrawal would be the best response, he picked and speed and heaved both bodies across the corridor.

"Are we all dead yet?" asked a voice next to his ears. Darelyn was coming round. Levantia was relieved to see that. His shoulders could not take it much longer.

"Not quite yet," he replied. "Are you alright? How is your injury?"

There was a pause. Levantia could feel the Dark Eldar fidgeting on his shoulder.

"This is just a flesh wound," she said. One of her hands reached to the blood-soaked cloth that covered her belly. "Trust me when I say this is like a needle to the flesh compared to what I have been through. Once, a Necron Warrior vaporized half my torso. I thought I was a goner back then, but Crox brought me back in good shape in time."

"Can you walk?" Levantia asked.

"Can't you just drop her instead?" the Dark Eldar pouted, looking at the unconscious Craftwolder right next to her. "She's out of action, isn't she? So she can't be of much use to us anymore, not that her helpfulness was at any level where I can appreciate in the first place."

"No," Levantia answered briskly. "We are not talking about this again. Nobody is going to be left behind, not on my watch. I know you are the master and I am the servant, but can I plead you to cut me some slack on this?"

"Fine," Darelyn sighed and slipped off his shoulder deftly like a serpent loosening its grip on its prey. Her eyes moved to the bandage again as she said, "It feels strange to have this on my body. I have fought and get injured lot, but this is the first time someone has performed field medical treatment on me."

Levantia felt uneasy at the statement. He realized the Dark Eldar were not similar to humans. For a human, pain was usually a nuisance, both occupying his attention which could have been directed to something else and reducing his vitality. The Dark Eldar, on the other hand, thrived on their own pain as much as that of their opponents. Knowing this, he was worried he had done something wrong by treating her injury against her will.

"Oh, I was not acutely aware that…" he stuttered.

"The truth is pain heightens the senses and wounds get the blood flow faster," Darelyn cut him off. "In gradual doses, they can turn even a chick into a cassowary, a meek runt into a fearless, relentless murderer. The Dark Eldar are quick, but we cannot use that advantage alone to compete. We are not as numerous as the Orks or the Tyranids, not as disciplined as the Necron and Imperial Guards, not as well-armored as our Craftworld kin and the Space Marines. However, we have a weapon that they don't, one which has led to countless times where the enemy thought they had us in a pinch and cornered, only to be slaughtered by warriors more efficient and powerful than they first encountered. That is the power we can derive from pain."

"I am sorry," said Levantia apologetically. Different culture required a different approach; that was his principle the whole time. How could he be so stupid and ignore that all of a sudden? "I did not mean to upset you."

"But there is a limit to everything," Darelyn went on, seemingly paying no heed to Levantia's apology. "The standard Dark Eldar body is at the core vulnerable compared to the likes of Wracks and Grotesques. Injuries do not always lead to beneficial results when the senses are dulled instead of heightened and your body becomes weak if so much of the blood flow contributes to vital fluid leaving your body and no longer fueling it. What you did was the right thing to do, and I am grateful for that. "

"And I am glad to hear that," Levantia said as he gave her a splinter rifle strapped on his back. Any other Dark Eldar saying so and he would have taken it with a grain of salt knowing their tendency to commit betrayal. But Darelyn was a different breed, a diamond among the coal. He was invested in everything she had to say just as he had been invested in what the drillers taught him for sixteen years during his training as Tempestus Scion.

If Felia was his last hope for humanity in him, she was his aspiration for understanding and respect between humans and Dark Eldar, no matter how unlikely it was. Moreover, as he thought about it, Darelyn and her influence might just be his ticket to have a better life as a member of the Kabal, which possibly extended to his comrades as well should they all survive.

A few days ago he was still addressing Darelyn as an inferior being. Now, he talked to her as though they were equals. And maybe, just maybe, he could do so with the rest of the Dark Eldar as well.

"Wait, you hear that?" Darelyn asked suddenly, eyes contemplating the corridor.

"Yes," Levantia replied as he secured Felia on both his shoulders. He felt much better now that there was one fewer body to carry. "Which is why I believe we should not linger and move on."

"That seems like the best course of action," Darelyn agree.

The two of them sprinted through the hallway thoroughly covered in Tyranid infestation. The sound got louder and more rapid as they ran. Looking back, Levantia saw nothing chasing them within the corridor, but knowing how the Tyranids loved surprise attacks, he did not take any chance. Darelyn got a huge head start over him before she slowed down with an annoyed look on her face. He did not blame her. Even without the Farseer on his back, he would still have a hell of a time keeping pace with her in a life and death situation like this. Nevertheless, that she risked waiting for him instead of running off the same way the other Dark Eldar abandoned them to the Warriors earlier spoke at least something about their relationship.

"Where in the name of the Great Father are they coming from?" cried Darelyn.

"It does not matter," Levantia assured her. "Let's just get the fuck out of here. Look ahead. I see an elevator. Can you get that working?"

"I will see what I can do."

They moved through the scene of slaughter. Numerous Dark Eldar corpses littered the place without a single dead Tyranid to be found. They were thick with swarms of Rippers which fed on their flesh and recovered precious biomass to aid the Tyranid war effort. While all Tyranids had a mouth full of extraordinarily sharp teeth and a proper digestive system, they rarely eat unless to restore energy or in some cases, to regenerate wounds by converting biomass into something that could be incorporated into their bodies. The Rippers were the main honey bees of the Hive Fleet, tasked with the collection of biomass and sending back to feed it.

With a flamer, acid sprayer or equivalent, he would have made mincemeat out of them in no time. The Rippers were thoroughly bloated, slow-moving and would provide little danger. Unable to acquire one and still running for his life and the lives of two others, he had to let it come to pass, even if that meant the Tyranids would be replenishing their ranks somewhat with this.

Though not much left of the bodies, Levantia could see they were mostly hacked apart, but some were crushed by powerful forces. This concurred with his prediction that they were being stalked by Genestealers. The ones Levantia encountered when he was with Felia were probably the recon detachment. These were the bulk of them.

When the two of them were meters away from the elevator, a claw slashed out of nowhere inside the wall.

"Watch out," Levantia hollered, but Darelyn was already in motion and performed a gracious back flip just as the claw swung at the air where she was. He figured the wound must have boosted her capability by some margins.

"What the heck was that?" Darelyn breathed as he aimed her weapon at where her assailant supposedly was. The claw had just come out of a solid wall. It was infested, but it still made no sense for a claw to grow from infestation like that. Unless…

"This is not the corridor," Levantia explained. "They are just trying to believe these are the walls and ceilings."

At once, a dozen or so Genestealers moved through the walls which made up of layers of infestation and nothing concrete. The real walls were hidden behind them all along. In other words, the Tyranids made the pathway seem smaller than it was, only to cover up an ambush force inside it without their enemy even knowing.

There was no way they could fight through this. The odds were too high. Levantia despaired at his situation. The Genestealers were capable of tearing apart from the largest Orks to the heaviest armored Space Marines. The two of them stood zero chance against so many of them when they were so close.

But once again, fate had gotten something else for them.

"Heads down!" Darelyn shouted and grounded herself. Levantia did as he was told and dropped himself and Felia.

As the sea of claws came closer, Levantia cried, "I am sorry, Darelyn. I want to say I lov…"

A barrage of splinter shrapnel cut down half the Tyranids in the corridor. There was no telling where it was coming from. Levantia looked to Darelyn and saw the trap operating device. He did not realize this place was rigged as well. Perhaps the Dark Eldar wanted to block access to unauthorized personnel to whatever parts of the ship the elevator was leading to. Or somebody thought it would be most effective to put a trap at this critical transport juncture. Whichever the case, he was glad this trap was better made than most others, not as well-crafted as the Great Folly, but decent nevertheless.

"Move, now!" Darelyn bellowed as she charged into the Genestealer ahead.

Levantia was not sure whether she was this good to begin with, or the wound made her the ultimate warrior she said the Dark Eldar could become if they experienced enough pain. Darelyn dodged the incoming attacks like a fly evading the fruitless attempts to swat it by bare hands. As soon as the Tyranid let its guard down, she fired back, downing it in front of her. Levantia tossed Felia into the elevator door and pulled out his gun. Felia hit the floor bodily. That might hurt a lot, but Levantia would have to worry about that later.

"We can't fight them all," he shouted as a Genestealer tried to pin him to the infestation wall, only for him to slither away at the last possible moment, its massive frame providing too much opening for him. "We must get to the elevator now."

"I am on it," Darelyn responded, jumping on top of a couple of Genestealers who looked dumbfounded at the way their prey just slipped through them. Their faces would have been of utter shock when they realized they were staring at the barrel of Levantia's splinter rifle only half a second later if there had been any discernible expression on them. Levantia cut them both down, poison needle penetrating their weak carapace with ease, and while they were more resilient than Hormagaunts, it only meant they would spasm longer before dying. The Genestealers relied greatly on the element of surprise combined with their remarkable ability in close combat. Being blasted from range, they perished as fast as any other Tyranid.

No more Genestealers were in their way to the elevator now, but still a lot were closing in. Levantia tossed a couple of toxic grenades at the direction he was running from. A number of Genestealers went down and the wall infestation withered, revealing the real walls with grisly trophies on them. Never had that sight been so reassuring to Levantia. Firing both a splinter rifle from his hip and a pistol at the same time, Levantia sent volleys of poisoned shards into the rank of the xenos. A second barrage from the booby trap thinned them even further. The Genestealers attack seemed to falter in the face of unexpectedly fierce retaliation.

"Done," said Darelyn. As soon as the elevator door opened, a Genestealer abruptly leaped out from it. Darelyn was caught unprepared and stood gawking as the curved talon lashed out at her.

Before it could find its target, however, Levantia pounded at her and knocked her out of the way, and the Genestealer missed them by a millimeter. In doing so, however, Levantia found himself lying on top of the Dark Eldar in a rather awkward position with his face pressed against her breasts. He could feel the heart beat accelerating with every passing second inside her chest. Looking up, he saw her face reddening quickly. However, he also saw a hint of desire within her, a flame kindled and glowing, brighter and brighter. It was a thirst - a lust if Levantia could bring himself up to call it such - for togetherness which he had always seen in her though never with such vehemence.

Her friends all left her, killed in an ill-fated raid by Space Marines.

Her not-so-boyfriend abandoned her to die. Even then, he was a douchebag to her before that.

Unless there was someone else Darelyn did not mention of, Levantia might be the closest person to her. Xeno or not, she did not deserve a lonely fate.

Levantia snapped out of it and reanalyzed where he was. Different culture called for a different approach, yet apparently all cultures were the same in some respects and this was not a good position for a male to be with a female unless in intimacy. Levantia cursed himself for his carelessness. In any other situation, he might have gotten something stupid to say, if she did not beat him by saying it first, but a Tyranid attack was enough reason to ignore any implication and treat this as an accidental offshoot of a rescue and no more.

Levantia quickly pulled himself up and seized his rifle. A second later, Darelyn did the same thing. The Genestealer renewed its attack only to be defeated halfway by a volley of poisoned needles. The remainder of the Tyranids surged forward once more. Throwing his weapon at the corner, Levantia pulled Felia into the elevator just before the doors shut, cutting them off from the ravenous horde.

"Looks like we are safe now," Levantia panted. The elevator started to move. There were only two destinations available, one of which probably the resident compartment which they just came from.

"That appears to be the truth," Darelyn echoed. "You did not need to bring that lump of meat with us, you know?" She indicated the lying Farseer who was still unconscious.

"Do you know where this is heading?"

"I give you one guess."

Levantia opened his eyes widely. No. No. It could not be. Anything but that. "The vehicle cargo bay," he said.

"Bingo," Darelyn replied. "This shaft connects the dwelling area with where their inhabitants' skills would be needed most." To ride on skimmers, invade through webways, maim and murder anyone standing in their way and take the rest back as trophies, Levantia thought. On several occasions where he had been called there to do maintenance work, the place seemed to be where most of the activities on board the Eternity of Torment ever took place. However, due to its size, it would probably be the most infested area where the Tyranids set their spawning pool, as well as other those structures responsible for the spreading of infestation across this ship. Additionally, monstrous creatures and perhaps even gargantuan bio-construct would be there to defend their one of their sources of reinforcement.

He was only trying to avoid danger. Now he was literally heading to the most dangerous place on the ship, the very belly of the beast.

But wait. What if the Dark Eldar had already taken it? It made sense for the vehicle bay to be perceived as a high-value target, not only because of the spawning pool, but also the weapons stored in there. That would be a blessing, or would it? He barely managed to convince the small group earlier because of Darelyn, how could he repeat the same feat with a regiment of Dark Eldar if they had indeed captured the hangar? What if they were hostile to humans or did not take Felia with her limiter lightly?

So many possibilities. Most of them went from bad to worse. Levantia felt his head spinning from all of these thoughts. He had barely gotten away from death. And now he was on his way to possible the most dangerous place on board, save for the chemical chamber. This was madness. This was becoming unbearable. What did he ever do for the Emperor to forsake him so? He wanted, no, he needed a break.

_Right now._

"My thanks to you," Darelyn said, not looking perturbed in any way by the imminent danger they would soon get themselves into. "For saving my life…again. A Mon-keigh you might be, you are as resourceful as you are generous. Something you race has consistently displayed a severe lack of before you came here."

"What are you talking about? Without you activating those traps, we would have been Genestealer food long before that. That was genius. Absolutely brilliant."

Darelyn smiled shyly. "Well, I guess I was."

Levantia scratched his head. "About that whole pinning you down, I…uh….didn't…"

"Don't get so fussed about it," Darelyn said. "It affects me as much as water on stone, and so it should be to you. I am still your master here. I demand so."

"Yes, mistress," Levantia replied. However, he could sense the uncertainty in her voice like a woman torn between two streams of conflicting emotions. Levantia found himself in the same dilemma.

She was a Dark Eldar, a race whose sole purpose of existence was to cause suffering to others to sustain their own miserable, hedonistic lives, but at the same time, she was also a woman longing for someone to be together with.

He was a Tempestus Scion turned a slave and then the lowest non-slave rank within the Kabal. Anything before Eternity of Torment taught him to hate and kill xenos with zest, anything after that to worship the Dark Eldar as a race far more superior, a race he could never hope to be on the same level as. And yet, he was still a man, and a were an arrogant, selfish breed. His desires and dreams which he had suppressed so far were coming back in droves. He served the Archon as loyal as he did to the Emperor. He killed many Tyranids. He protected the Kabal's interest and members, putting his very life in jeopardy.

He deserved better than what he had gotten thus far. He should have earned respect and credit and position for what he did. Serving the Emperor was a thankless task, but this was not the Emperor he was serving. The Archon was in the flesh. He would see what the Emperor could not. But above all, he deserved a chance with the woman (or women) he aspired.

Levantia wished to say it all out to Darelyn, what would have been his dying words if she had not activated the trap at the elevator and saved them. He decided not to. For now.

It would require a special kind of courage, something he did not have in ample supply. Fighting Tyranids was one thing. Confessing true feeling was another.

It would take time. He could not just tell her after he had kissed Felia just a few moments earlier.

It might not even matter. There were likely to end up dying in the next hours anyway.

* * *

_**Author's note: Alright, the next update is here. This chapter focuses more on relationship development between Levantia and Darelyn. It also introduces a new threat as well as showing the darker side of Levantia. I always feel like most main protagonists in both Warhammer 40k and anime are too ideal compared to all secondary characters and the only flaw they have is their naivete, so I would like to see mine being a little corrupted so that it balances out with his heroism.**_

_**Hope you enjoy it. I will see you next time.**_


	11. Chapter 11: For the Kabal

Upon entering the hangar along with his retinue, Archon Feharuln Snaketongue was greeted with a sight that made him wanted to throw up on the sole of his boots. Not only had the Tyranids set foot on his ship without his permission, not only had they slaughtered its crew, his minions, the tools rightfully belonging to him and required for his goal to come true, but they had also turned this place into their nest. Such was an affront of the highest degree he could think of, seeing his properties stripped away and defiled in gut-churning manners. His hatred for the Space Marines that gave his Kabal a good pounding earlier was minor compared to the one he harboured for the Great Devourer right now. Feharuln swore every single Tyranids, not just on this ship, but all across the galaxy would come to regret ever crossing with him in the first place.

The cargo bay was heavily infested with its walls and ceilings covered in vibrating alien flesh like the belly of a humongous beast. The Dark Eldar liked to decorate their spaces with flesh taken from slain enemies, but this one seemed to be alive somehow, brimming with an unearthly life force that Feharuln did not need to be a psyker to register. The floor, likewise, was carpeted in organic substances upon which numerous structures had grown out of. The most common among them were Capillary Towers serving as storage for the bio-mass the Tyranids received from the Hive Fleet or harvested from within the Eternity of Torment itself, all of which connected via chitinous pipes to a pool large enough to hold a Titan or two at the centre of the hangar that stood out like a small volcano. Feharuln supposed this must be the spawning pool. The Tyranids' first wave consisted mainly of small creatures that could be easily replaced to scout ahead, destabilize defences as much as they could and find a place to establish the base of operation. With the spawning pool in place, the Tyranids could begin creating bigger and more expensive creatures that would no doubt be extremely bothersome to deal with. Other organic buildings in the area played a more defensive role and were equipped with either lashing tentacles or spore shooters.

To Feharuln's relief, there were elements of his troops still fighting for their lives against the Tyranids in the hangar. They were mostly sporadic and lacking the cohesion of a proper army, yet retaining most of their effectiveness which Feharuln could only attribute to desperation. They would not last long, but with reinforcement arriving soon, their effort was recommendable in containing the threat.

"How dare they do this to MY ship?" the Archon grunted. "A thousand curses to these abominations. I will not stop until my blade has licked the blood of every single one of them in here." Despite the anger displayed by their master, or master of their master, some of the Wracks looked at the infestation with a hint of awe. Feharuln reminded himself to have them wipe the floor clean with their tongue, or whatever they had in equivalent to that beneath those masks, once this was all over.

As for Varuq, while she kept her big mouth shut this time, the expression "I think it looks kind of cool" was written all over her face which Feharuln read like a book. One day, someday, he would make an example out of her and confirm once and for all that his wrath could befall upon anyone no matter how close they were to him.

Or not. Both this battle and the previous one had shown him a lot of the people he hired were wanting, and if he were to add everyone to his punish list, that might be more than half the Kabal including Crox who still owed him money from that stripper night.

"No taste of art whatsoever," Crox spat. For once, Feharuln was glad someone was on the same wavelength with him. "Nonononono. Ugly. Inelegance. All over the place. They have so many resources and decided to make the worst use out of them. What a shame. It's going to take me whole days to clean this mess up."

For a few seconds, the Archon and his retinue stood still observing the hangar. Then, a group of Tyranids spotted them, turned around and hurled themselves for the charge. Feharuln did not give any order this time around, for most of the warriors here were not actually his to begin with. Crox was silent. All he did was clap his hands three times and his lackeys got into formation neatly as though such manoeuvre had been programmed into their brains. The Grotesques and Talos stood at the forefront met the Tyranid advance head on, tearing apart Hormagaunts, Raveners and even armoured Warriors with giant cleavers and steel-encased fists while absorbing punishments that would have killed any Dark Eldar including their lesser (if not more fortunate) cousin Wracks many times over. The Wracks stayed behind and unloaded an assortment of exclusive weaponry at the foe, Tyranids struck by projectiles from them turning into crystal or exploding like balloons filled with gore. Seeing no need to commit himself, Feharuln kept his sword unsheathed and added to the firepower with his own disintegrator cannon. Both Varuq and the last remaining Sslyth stayed as close to him as possible just in case the Tyranids pulled out a nasty trick off their sleeves, or one of the Grotesques went crazy which was no without precedence.

The Tyranid attack was crushed within seconds, their bodies laid in heaps in front of the Archon's retinue, but there seemed to be no end to the horde that infested the hangar from where Feharuln stood. Nor did the Haemonculus's lackeys won the battle without any loss. The coordination was perfect from what the Archon saw, but not even the most perfect methods could prevent all bad things from happening, rather, they simply minimized them. One of the Grotesques was down, hacked to pieces by Rending Talons from a pack Raveners before his comrades could lend a hand.

Instead of advancing forward into the fray, Crox motioned his troops to stand back and continued with their defensive formation.

"We need to press on," ordered the Archon impatiently. "Our troops are out there fighting and bleeding for the sake of our Kabal. We can't just leave them like that and do nothing."

"There are just too many of them here," the Haemonculus commented. "While I am not reluctant to expand my troops for our cause, they still represent considerable amounts of time, effort, resources and maybe volunteers. Losing them all at once would be inefficient. I would have to start from square one all over again." Crox was speaking as though the concept of death only applied to his army and not himself. Even when his very survival was on the line, Feharuln felt some parts of him frightened by the Haemonculus's dark arts, forbidden knowledge that the scientist covens zealously guarded from the rest of the Commorragh fearing not only replication but also sanctions for who knew how much of it was illegal. Crox was an ancient being, older than anyone in the Kabal and even most Farseers of the Craftworlds, having cheated death and the grasp of She-Who-Thirsts numerous times. "Great Archon, I suppose you have some grand scheme for all of us so that we could engage the Tyranids without having to expand all of our resources and manpower."

"Then we should wait for the reinforcement to arrive," Varuq chimed in. "The Webway is secured. Even if this place is overrun, we would not lose. No point in needlessly putting our lives in jeopardy when help is just around the corner."

"Sounds like a plan," concurred the Haemonculus.

"In your dream, both of you," Feharuln cut in curtly. There were times where he hated being the only person with the brain around. In most cases, it was testament to his superiority as well as his right to lead, but situations like this reminded him that being a lone shepherd among hundreds of stupid animals was also exhausting. "Don't forget who is paying all of you and who has the right to make decisions around here. If we don't do anything now, the Tyranids will grow stronger and become a larger threat and will definitely impede our future efforts much more than what they could do now. Our Kabal has already been battered by recent misfortunes. I would rather risk it all in one go than to have a Pyrrhic victory only to see its wounds eventually bleed it dry. It's either crushing victory or nothing at all."

"You have a point there," Crox nodded. What a fickle bastard, Feharuln thought. Varuq remained silent, as she should. "Any bright idea you want to share with us?"

"That spawning pool over there," the Archon pointed out to the massive pile of flesh that occupied a huge portion of the chamber and stood out obvious from the rest of the infestation. "The longer we let it survives, the more it will cost us. We need to get rid of it quickly. Tell your underlings to make a beeline for that thing. We have got a big bug nest to burn."

"Then, my claws are at your service," Crox grinned as he brandished his scissorhands. With swift motions, he ordered his creations to move forward on the Archon's cue, Grotesques and Talos taking the lead while Wracks encircling him and the Archon as best they could.

Feharuln felt himself on fire, both from the tension building within him and the anger he promised to unleash upon these foul beings for what they did to his ship. The stakes here were higher than he could ever imagine. Not only was this the linchpin to this battle, but the entire future of the Kabal could depend on the outcome of this single charge, regardless whether the Dark Eldar could win the battle in the end or not.

Here and there squads of Kaballite Warriors and Trueborns could be seen keeping the horde at bay with sustained volleys of fire while Wyches and Hekatrix Bloodbrides took the fight to the aliens in close quarter. The gladiatrixes were a rare sight on the Eternity of Torment; in fact, on a normal day they could hardly be seen. Rather than performing the usual duties on board the ship, the gladiatrixes were allowed to spend most of their time practicing martial arts in the dojos and arena, a privilege that had attracted a lot of green eyes from their brethren. Their training seemed to have paid off well as they evaded the flurry of claws and talons with the grace of the most skilled acrobats and delivered a storm of blows that were economic and deadly in equal measure. They were constantly on the move, blurring across the battlefield like phantoms and leaving only streams of ichor gushing in their wake.

The confine of the ship proved not a problem convincing enough to deter high octane bravado as gangs of Reavers and Hellions took to the sky and performed all kinds of harassment to the foe. In response, the Tyranids had spawned a large number of Gargoyles and even some of the flying monstrous creatures, but they were all ill-prepared to deal with a foe that could constantly outmanoeuvre them. Many times a Dark Eldar jetbike or flying disc would make an audacious turn in the nick of time before ramming into the wall leaving their pursuers not being to react in time and painting the wall with their innards. As Feharuln watched with awe, a squadron of Reavers went full throttle ahead to charge at a confused Hive Crone. The creature was shredded to pieces by razor-sharp spikes protruding from the Dark Eldar jetbikes that came at it from a dozen directions.

Most the skimmers in the hangar had been destroyed, but quite a few managed to take off, put up a formation and were trying to hold off the Tyranid swarm with heavy firepower. Splinter cannons mowed down dozens per second while dark lance seared through Tyrannofex and Tervigons with ease. To counter this threat, the Hive Mind created an army of Carnifex and sent them charging headlong at their position. Poison darts killed three of them and a fourth was knocked down by dark lance before they closed in. Even heavily armoured tanks were no match for the Carnifex, let alone these skimmers that were designed to maximize mobility and ability to avoid danger by moving out of the way. Needless to say, the cramped battleground within the hull of a space ship did not favour these advantages. The lack of space for retreat proved to be the death of these vehicles and crew as most of them were caught in an unstoppable stampede and smashed to nothing but scraps and tissues.

Towering above the rest like gods among mortals, the Tormentor Engine duelled a Hierophant in a gigantic battle. The Dark Eldar Titan was limping badly from the damage while the gargantuan Tyranid had lost one of its insectoid legs. The one-on-one fight between these two would have been a magnificent sight to behold. However, everyone was too busy with their own business to even register it was taking place.

Every now and then, more fresh Dark Eldar troops would arrive from other parts of the ship brimming with savage glee at the prospect of a good bloodbath. Feharuln feared their arrival might not have had the same impact as they had been here the whole time. If he knew of the Tyranid invasion in advance, he would have gathered a sizeable army in hangar bay to prevent them from forming a beachhead, potentially ending this battle fairly quickly. But as it turned out, the invasion had caught the entire Kabal off guarded and come at the moment where its members were not at all ready.

This was not the first time they had face against the Great Devourer, but it was undeniably the hardest. Archon Slavara entered realspace to hunt down Hive Fleets from time to time and under Feharuln's reign, the Kabal had had many successful engagements with them. Thanks to divination from the Farseer, they were always spot-on when it came to locating the main part of the fleet where the Norm Queen dwelled. The battles were swift with the Kabal fleet easily taking out their hive control from afar before boarding parties were dislodged to finish the job. Thinking about it Feharuln could not help but find himself becoming reliant on the Farseer. Though he hated psychic powers as much as any Dark Eldar and he hated how her last prediction had led his army to a massacre, most of her prescience so far had been correct and played no small role in the success of the Kabal.

The Archon's group barely made it a hundred meters when they were stopped by another Tyranid offensive. As before, the Haemonculus's creations were too strong for the Great Devourer to deal with and left a trail of broken corpses as they went. The sight of the Archon made the rest of the Dark Eldar in the hangar fight on with greater zeal than before, galvanized by the sight of their commander directly taking the field as well as the fear of what would happen to them should the performance they displayed in front of their master was inadequate.

The Tyranids had been broke and the group once more carried on with their advance. Taking lessons from the previous two disastrous attempts to dislodge the Haemonculus's army in melee combat, the Tyranids instead stayed back and laid down a curtain of fire upon them. This method availed them little as spiked needles barely penetrated the Grotesques' thick hide, let alone the well-armoured Talos, while devourers and fleshborer worms could not chew through whatever flesh that made up these creatures. The Wracks who were mostly safe thanks to the meat wall fired back with their various firearms and gunned down Termagants in their dozens. From behind the meat wall, Feharuln aimed with his disintegrator cannon and picked out synapse creatures including Warriors and Zoanthropes with impeccable accuracy.

"Good shooting," Varuq whooped as a Zoanthrope exploded in a shower of crimson chutney. "I bet not even Kurnous could land a shot like that."

"Shut it," Feharuln admonished. "Or I will have Crox develop a special zipper to seal that big mouth of yours."

Despite the success he was enjoying, Feharuln was fully aware that he had attracted the attention of the Hive Mind which no doubted by now had branded him and his group as a high priority target and marked them for destruction. His prediction was correct, as with an earthshaking eruption, the spawning pool churned out three pieces of giant spores clad in chitin in nondescript shape. Hurled fifty meters away from the volcano, the spores quickly evolved with legs growing out in three pairs of two, front row being the largest, and a head emerging. The last feature they adopted was a massive cannon enough to fit a person inside on their back. Feharuln recognized these as Exocrines, monstrous artillery units employed by the Tyranids as static defences or to smash apart enemy fortification. Armed with bio-plasmic cannons, they could fell even the heaviest of the foe.

Even though they had just been spawned seconds ago, the Exocrines reacted as though they had been observing the battlefield the whole time. In unison, their claws dug into the ship before their cannons unleashed a volley of incandescent bio-plasma balls at the Archon's group. The firepower they brought to bear was devastating, dropping Grotesques and even burning through Talos with ease. The rest of the Tyranid range units redoubled their effort at the Wracks who were left exposed by the death of many soldiers that made up the meat shield that had protected them with distinction so far.

One of the pain engines became covered in red hot substance from being hit multiple times. Not able to withstand the damage, it collapsed as the anti-grav generator cease the function. Left behind by its comrades, it continued to drag itself with its claws before a swarm of creatures tore into the poor creature and put it out of its misery.

"Break formation now!" Feharuln shouted.

"We are going to get slaughtered if we do," Crox retorted. With waves of his hand, the remaining troops closed in on their master to shield him from the incoming fire.

"We ARE getting slaughtered right here," the Archon cried. "If you don't listen to me you will have to recreate your entire army all over again after this. In fact, you won't. Our Kabal will go bankrupt and you will not have the fund, nor the resources, nor the volunteers to continue your experiments anymore. And I will kill you myself if you even dare think of pledging your loyalty to someone else."

After some consideration as though to weight the benefits and costs of his decision as well as the validity of Feharuln's threat, Crox finally relented. "Alright," he said. "Everyone is on his own now. May the Great Father guide us." Without another word, he signalled his lackeys to disperse and engage the foe where they could.

The ebb and flow were clearly not in favour of the Dark Eldar, until with billowing smoke of dark cloud and a feral cry a band of Venoms and Raiders materialized from the eastern wing of the bay. They bore different symbols and adorned their vehicles with different symbols to the ones Feharuln was accustomed to. While his core army wore black and purple armours, these were grey with red stripes. Their banner bore a serpent biting the moon while the official icon of the Kabal was a three-line claw mark. Feharuln identified these new Eldar were from the Kabal branch in Choyark District.

Reinforcement had finally arrived, and about time as well.

Not welcomed by their comrades who were already snowed under, and who would not greet them unless in extremely special circumstances without guns pointing and insults being thrown, the newcomers joined the fight without delay. Feharuln could see they were inexperienced due to lack of combat in realspace, being second-class troops held in reserve in case of an emergency such as right now, but their numbers made up for this defect.

At the zenith of its power, the Kabal of the Shadow Talon absorbed elements of many defeated Kabal into its own, including army, territory, and resources. Following aggressive expansion by Archon Slavara, the Kabal annexed a dozen districts into its realm and ruled over a population of ten million. However, after the fall of Slavara, the Kabal had torn itself apart and was now, literally, a shadow of the former talon that could cut through the hierarchy of Commorragh in its heyday. Though many districts still belonged to the Kabal, their population had greatly decreased and discrimination become amok. The core of the Kabal currently was made up mainly of recruits from Lolarei and Ish'rak, the two original districts it controlled, while the fringe which comprised of 50% of the Kabal's strength was from the rest. Only Lolarei and Ish'rak had formal facilities to train their troops and manufacture and maintain weaponry on an industry scale, the rest having to find a way to make do themselves. The diversion in competencies and treatments received meant tension between the core and the fringe was always high.

Yet, for all the resentment they had for one another, the hatred they all had for the lesser races overwhelm all of that, and so they treated each other as allies, for now.

Feharuln dashed across the battlefield alone, heedless of Varuq and the Sslyth who were fighting for the lives. The spawning pool was the key. If he could take it down, the outcome of this battle would be assured.

The Archon hacked down numerous Hormagaunts that got in his way. Though he would like to watch them suffer, he made the practical choice and put them out quickly to prevent frantic slashing claws from getting in his way, or anyone's way for that matter. Some of his allies were also heading towards the same direction. The Exocrines were desperately trying to repel them, but one of them had lost its cannon to dark lance. Apparently, its skin did not provide much protection against whatever substance it was transporting, evidenced by the greasy glowing liquid pouring out of the wound literally melting through its back even as it howled in pain. The Hive Mind could have made its minions immune to pain if it wanted to, but as it had been proven time to time that doing so would only lower reaction and combat readiness, that was not the decision it made. It was the right decision, too, Feharuln thought as he drunk in the agony the Exocrine suffered moments before it perished.

Two Talos made a beeline for the Exocrine to exact vengeance on the loss of so many of their brothers and sisters. One was gunned down before it could make it. The other hit its foe like a bullet train. It pounded one of the Exocrines to meat with its flesh gauntlet and locked up the remaining in melee, thus preventing its destructive plasmic-cannon to fire.

Feharuln was not surprised that he was now surrounded by a swarm of creatures. Even without his bodyguards, he was far from hopeless. Pulling out a decorated box from his belt, Feharuln opened it and unleashed the horror inside. Released from the Crucible of Malediction, the extracted spirit of many psykers from a number of races, many (slightly less than half) of which Tyranids, shot out in all direction carrying their baleful, unworldly touch. The effect was akin to that of a psychic backlash from the death of a synapse creature, only in this case it was amplified a hundred times over. Any Tyranid creature too close to him simply exploded, their bodies and minds imploded. Many more died in extreme pain as their connection to the Hive Mind became a death trap and even synapse creatures were not safe from the influence.

The Hive Mind must have realized the danger and shifted its attention into defending the pool. Tentacles lashed out at the assailants, pinning them in place for the host of creatures to fall upon them like ants on a pie plate. Feharuln dodged these attempts easily, pulling out a toxin canister containing highly compressed Vitae Rebellion enough to turn the whole spawning into a sludgy mess as he drew near to it. The entirety of the Tyranid army was made up of organic, so it was natural that the Dark Eldar, masters of toxin and bane of flesh, would have the upper hand. The tentacles increased the rate of their attacks, but anything the Feharuln could not evade, he simply cut it in half with his husk blade. Changing their tactics, the tentacles smashed the ground violently, sending seismic waves that caused the Archon the lose balance as he tried to evade. By the time he got up again, he was forced to immediately avoid more tentacles coming. Even if they did not succeed in hitting him, they were clearly delaying him, denying his bonanza and allowing other creatures to take him over.

Pondering between Shudderstep and Grave Lotus, Feharuln decided to go for the latter. The Tyranids would probably create more monstrous creatures to fight him, so any extra strength was imperative. Unlike the drug he used earlier which was injected, this came in the form of powder. Inhaling it in, Feharuln felt his muscles tensing and more weight was put on his feet. The effect of the drug did not hamper his speed, however, as he continued dashing through the forest of tentacles with ease, cutting down any that got into his way.

He was within range to toss the canister when a rapturous roar stopped him in his track. Walking out of the spawning pool like a king stepping from his throne and still drenched in nutrient fluid was a monstrous creature that stood with its back straight. Armed with a pair of crushing claws and a venom cannon, the Hive Tyrant cried out in defiance against the Dark Eldar Archon.

"Prepare to meet your maker, abomination," the Archon shouted. "You and your kind have no reason to be on this ship, or anywhere in this galaxy that is ours to roam and pillage at our will. Your death scream shall be something I will record and experience over and over again for a very long time." With that, he made a headlong charge at the only thing left standing between him and his ultimate prize.

* * *

"Bringing her here is a bad idea," said Darelyn as Levantia hefted up the Farseer on his shoulder. The elevator was reaching its destination at possibly the most dangerous place aboard the Eternity of Torment right now. From what Darelyn said reading out of her tablet which looked to be the equivalent of the Imperial dataslate, though much smaller and more portable, a huge detachment of Dark Eldar was engaging the Tyranids in what seemed to be the battle that would decide the future of the Kabal. "She will only slow us down. We are heading to a warzone here, can you be any less practical?"

"Funny thing," replied Levantia blandly. "Felia told me the same thing when you were unconscious. And yet you are standing here right now."

"I, um...," Darelyn tried to say something, but the words got stuck in her throat.

She needed to say no more, Levantia thought with a pang of guilt. He understood her displeasure. It was partially his fault that he, her and the Eldar Farseer ended up in a situation like this. "Like I said, nobody is going to be left behind, not when I can help it."

"Typical of you Mon'keigh," said Darelyn, conceding. "How hopelessly naive you race is in this galaxy. You never just care about yourself, always putting abstract, pointless, even detrimental concepts ahead of your own utility. Honour. Courage. Loyalty. Love." The way she emphasized on the last word made Levantia's heart skip a beat, but kept his composure nevertheless.

"That is from your perspective," Levantia replied. "The way we see it, the Dark Eldar are selfish and pernicious, taking all that we hold dear and offering nothing but suffering. It is up to us, the righteous and faithful, to put you all to the torch." Knowing Darelyn, Levantia did not hesitate as he quoted from the Imperial Creed viewpoint on the Dark Eldar. Such was the concept he once adhered to with the whole of his heart, but like the rest of the ideologies he learned from his previous indoctrination by the Imperium, it had been eroded by his experience on board the Eternity of Torment. Not only did he not think he could do anything against the Dark Eldar, not without losing his life and soul, but he also found a strange lack of reason for that. Cruel and sadistic, but not to the point of unfathomable as illustrated by the example that was Darelyn, the Dark Eldar had become his masters and he was accepting that.

"Right, right, I almost forgot," Darelyn giggled. "So, what's your plan out there, once we get to the hangar. How are you supposed to deal with all the Tyranids there?"

"And what about you?" Levantia asked back as he considered his options. "What are you going to do?"

Darelyn shrugged, "It's a big battle going on there, so there has to be a lot of pain and death involved as well. Just the way I like it. My father sheltered me for most of my childhood, but I can prove to him right now this is where I belong, in the thick of battle. I will grab whatever weapon I can find and mow down as many of those abominations as I could and if I die, death would have to claim me from the top of a heap of fallen enemy."

"That sounds plausible," Levantia nodded. He could not think of a better thing to do once he reached there himself. "Then I shall be following you on this one."

The moment the elevator door opened, Darelyn and Levantia immediately went heads down as a spore bomb was hurled at them (or rather hurling itself at them because it looked to be alive and floating), the latter still slinging Felia on his left shoulder. The spore exploded within the cavity of the elevator and sprayed its inside with organic corrosive. Luckily, the three of them got out before any of the substance could get on them.

Wasting no time recovering, both Levantia and Darelyn opened up on a group of three Biovores who were astonished by the sight of them coming out of the shaft. Much like most Imperial artillery units, the Biovores were powerful at long range where they could attack without fear of retaliation but susceptible to outflank and close combat. Two creatures went down immediately to the volley. The third, still confused by what was going on, decided discretion was the better part of valour and fell back. Neither Levantia nor Darelyn was keen on pursuing.

Looking back at the elevator which was covered in sick ooze, Levantia knew there could be no turning back. Jumping behind the carcass of a Venom, Levantia observed the battle raging inside the vehicle bay with scrutiny. Most of the combatants were Tyranids, which was unsurprising, but as he watched, the Dark Eldar were beginning to gain ground. Many warriors were not dressed in the normal dark-coloured attires most Shadow of Talon Kabal members wore and instead clad themselves in the kind of grey and red that reminded Levantia of the Ecclesiarchy priests of the academy world he attended. From what he learned, they were recruited from the less favoured districts under control of the Kabal, still stubbornly holding onto their previous culture despite the annexation.

Numerous battles were taking place, from the conflicts on the ground where Kaballite Warriors and Wyches fought against lesser creatures while Grotesques and Talos took on the monsters to the Reavers performing outrageous manoeuvres against the Tyranid flying force. Despite the closed space, the alien jetbikes were making a good account for themselves, even in death they plummeted into the middle of the horde taking out as many with them as possible. But most notable of all the duel between the Tormentor Titan and the Hierophant. Both were badly injured and even if one of them came out victorious, the damage they received would prevent them from playing any large role in this battle.

Levantia spotted a unit of Dark Eldar nearby taking cover behind several wreckages and fallen monstrous creatures. They were exchanging fire with a group of Termagants who also sought protection behind organic terrain created by the infestation, a sea of dead bodies on both sides between the two.

"We need to join up with them," said Darelyn as she discarded her splinter rifle for a more powerful but close-range blaster.

Despite his reluctance, Levantia agree. His chance of survival was greater in group, even if that group consisted murderous and racist lunatics. Unfortunately, before he could speak out in concurrence, a massive spore went flying at the group which Darelyn indicated, knocking down some of the covers they were using. The spore mutated quickly and, to Levantia's horror, became the epitome of what had been repeatedly condemned by the Ecclesiarchy about the worst perversion residing with man's heart: tentacle hentai. The Toxicrine went on a rampage on the Dark Eldar, lithe limbs whipping out to seize its unfortunate victim before needles at the tip of the tentacles injected them with a dose of some of the most powerful toxin in the galaxy. Splinter fire did nothing to the creature and the Dark Eldar's usual agility in melee proved useless against the series of lash whips it had. It was all in all a bloodbath.

"I honestly think we should not," said Levantia, to which Darelyn nodded quickly. He once heard somewhere that triangle-like the ears of someone were, the greater the risk they would attract the tentacles. Checking his ears and then those of the Farseer, he swore to protect her from them no matter the cost. Of course, he did so silently, as it would be awkward (if not demoralizing) for Darelyn to hear it.

"Damn it, these Tyranids are killing us," Darelyn hissed with a hint of helplessness in her voice. Levantia looked for the source of the spore and before fixing his eyes upon the volcano rising from the infested ground at the centre of the hangar, about two hundred meters away from where he stood. This must be the spawning pool, he thought. For whatever reason, the Dark Eldar had failed to dislodge it so far, or maybe they were too short-sighted to bother, and the Hellions hovering above on their skyboards were unable to get close due to the ridiculous number of wiggly tentacles surrounding it. Nevertheless, a group of Wracks were fighting their way through and had cleared out a significant portion of the tentacles on their side, though they were stopped in their track by a wave of Hormagaunts.

Some of the lower-class slaves had been dispatched as well. Of course, simply using them as meat shield was unbecoming of the cunning Dark Eldar, if not counterproductive considering the Tyranids could always benefit from having more flesh on the battlefield. Strapped with explosives and robbed of will and humanity, these pathetic souls were pushed towards the horde where they detonated with virulent malice. Despite witnessing something that should have made him sick, the cruel treatment of his kin and a constant reminder of the Dark Eldar's true nature which Darelyn was not an exception, Levantia felt nothing. For all he cared, these humans were beyond help and death was the ultimate form of mercy for them no matter how messy it was. Besides, the method worked like a charm and blew up huge chunks of Tyranids.

All around them, the fighting was hard and intense and it was only a matter of time before neither of them could go on as uninvolved observers. Putting Felia down for a while, Levantia emptied his clip into the horde before using his rifle as a club to fend off the smaller creatures coming at him. One of the claws came really close to hacking the top of his head off. It still managed to score a deep gash on his face which would no doubt leave a scar behind. Howling in frustration rather than pain, Levantia threw his rifle away, took out his splinter pistol and shot it through the eye. Darelyn vaporized a mob of Termagants with a blast from her weapon. As she reloaded, a spiked needle impaled on her knee. Crouching and panting, Darelyn finished the action and fired again, reducing her attacker a half a dozen creatures nearby to ash.

Darelyn said the outcome of this battle would decide whether the Kabal would go on existing.

"Darelyn," Levantia said as he laid down Felia inside a destroyed Raider. "Stay here with her. I have something to take care off."

"Where are you going?" asked Darelyn worriedly. "You are not abandoning me, aren't you? And anything but with that bitch."

"That spawning pool is going to cause us a lot of trouble if we don't do anything about it. I am going to have a try at it," he said as he pulled out a satchel full of toxic grenades salvaged earlier. "You are in no position to move right now. Just hold this position and I will try to help out the others who are going after the spawning pool."

"Be careful," said Darelyn. Throughout his career as a Militarum Tempestus and even as an overseer, Levantia had enjoyed camaraderie everywhere he went but never had he thought he would hear something like that coming from a Dark Eldar's mouth. For many long seconds, his heart stopped. He had seen this before, many times over, in fact. This all felt like the clichés in an action movie where the hero left behind his lover to embark on a quest which he may not return. In those scenes, a kiss usually occurred between the two. "Can I torture her to death when you are not around?" Darelyn asked in a playful tone.

Or not.

"I don't think so."

"Pretty please," Darelyn blinked her eyes. "I'll be extra gentle with her XXX. You can still have it for yourself later if you want."

"How about we don't talk about that again?"

Darelyn giggled. She tossed him a blaster pistol which Levantia caught. "Go, then."

Rushing through the forest of hentai material, Levantia found himself faster than ever before. Either having to catch up with the Dark Eldar had induced a learning-under-pressure curve or his body was jubilantly responding to the lack of weight that had been present for the last few hours or so, he was running across the battlefield with the speed he did not know he possessed. Though the terrain was sticky with infestation underfoot and many corpses in the way, he made through them all without much issue. The Tyranids were too occupied with the remaining of the Haemonculus's lackeys that they did not notice a human passing through. Likewise, the Wracks, Grotesques, and Talos ignored his presence altogether. After all, what could a single little puny human possibly do?

As he reached closer to the spawning pool, his attention became fixated on a duel taking place between none other than Archon Feharuln Snaketongue himself and a Hive Tyrant. The supreme leaders of the two armies were clashing in a state that winner would have none but all. The Hive Tyrant had lost one of its claws and was wobbling from asymmetry in its composition. However, the Archon seemed like he was in real trouble now, having picked an opponent that far exceeded his level. As Levantia watched, he was getting pushed back step by step and limping from numerous bleeding cuts on his armour. Seeing its victory close, the monstrous Tyranid pounded forward to overpower its opponent through strength as well as volume of attacks. Its massive venom cannon swung out and caught the Archon in the torso as he blocked the blow from the scything claw, sending his flung into one of the Capillary Tower.

Archon Feharuln was a despicable man, that Levantia had no doubt. It was he who laid waste to his regiment, he who was responsible for the death of so many comrades he cared for and he who put him into this mess in the first place. His treatment of Felia was disgusting, abusing her power for his own gain and then tossing her aside like a piece of junk when she did not produce further result. His arrogance was unbound and his cruelty without limits. The death of him was everything the Imperium was hoping for, everything Felia was hoping for and his thirst for vengeance satisfied. And yet, it would be potentially the beginning of the end for both him and Felia.

The death of Feharuln would lead to one of the two things: either the Kabal would have a new leader, likely through some violent feuds, or be dissolved and its assets liquidated. Whichever the outcome, it could not be good. As far as he could tell, only the Kabal of the Shadow Talon employed capture humans as overseers and should it failed, the overseers would probably be sold as regular slaves. While Feharuln Snaketongue was far from the most reasonable person, or most reasonable Dark Eldar for that matter because that title belonged to Darelyn, having him as master was more desirable than most else from Commorragh. What would happen to Felia he could not imagine. Would another Archon give her a job offer, would the Craftworld ransom her back, or would the Dark Eldar do what they normally do with psykers they captured?

Levantia was determined. Feharuln must live, even at the cost of his life being damned forever. Baying "For the Kabal!" as opposed to the usual "For the Emperor!", Levantia sprinted at the Hive Tyrant firing both his pistols at its back.

The splinter darts failed to penetrate the creature's thick armour, but the dark matter energy scored numerous dents on it. Screeching in pain and anger, the Hive Tyrant turned. When it saw Levantia, he could see a hint of disbelief in the creature as it froze momentarily. Its eyes wandered around as though in search of a more formidable foe that could be responsible for this daring attack. This made Levantia irritated more than anything, realizing how little was a human regarded by anyone in this galaxy, from haughty Dark Eldar to hungry Tyranids.

"Die, you son of a bitch!" Shouting, he renewed his effort with both pistols blazing. The Hive Tyrant's open wounds from its fight against the Archon proved effective targets which Levantia was quick to exploit. The creature made a headlong charge at him, hoping to crush him beneath its weight. Unfortunately for the Tyranid, the loss of one of its claw meant it could not swerve to that direction where its weight was much lighter as flexible as it could with both claws. Levantia took advantage of this and ducked out of the way just in time.

With the Hive Tyrant continued on its momentum before slowing to a halt. Levantia continued his barrage as it returned. Suddenly, a ball of plasma impacted on its chest followed by another.

"Don't look back, Mon'keigh," a voice yelled out to his back. "I am not going to eat your liver, not today. But that proposal would not apply if you dare turn around for even the slightest second. We are on the same side here, and this is our common enemy. Throw in all you've got and I shall do the same. We are going to take this thing down together."

Encouraged by the Archon's words, Levantia pressed the triggers as fast as he could. More than ever, he felt pride surging through him. A Dark Eldar Archon considering him as someone on the same side and really meant it was worth a hundred medals from the Imperial Guards. When the blaster pistol ran out of munition, he grabbed another splinter pistol and fired it along with the other instead. Wounded in countless places and under heavy fire, the Hive Tyrant did not last long. As it died, the psychic backlash was intense, neutralizing most of the nearby tentacles and spore shooters. The way to the spawning pool was clear now.

"My lord," Levantia cried. "We need to destroy that thing. It is the source of their reinforcement."

"I have just the right tool for that," the Archon replied casually, his use of Low Gothic impeccable as though he were a native speaker all along.

Both of them headed for the mouth of the volcano made of flesh. In unison, they tossed in the payload they carried, Levantia the satchel with all the toxin grenades inside, one of which he had pulled the pin, and Archon Feharuln the canister which no doubt contain something similar but more powerful.

This was it, Levantia thought, the moment of glory. In a sense, he was correct, but the aftermath consequence was something he had not anticipated. The effect from the double toxin attack was immediate. Before any of them could react, the pool erupted violently and the liquid inside burst out like tsunami. Levantia never got to see whether the Archon escaped or not as he was swallowed by the tidal wave of sludgy fluid. For a second, all his senses went numb. The next, pain engulfed his body as the toxic chemicals that had been fused within the liquid began to take effect.

Levantia could neither scream nor fight back as he felt as though he had been put in an oven, his skin literally peeled from his body one small layer at a time. Blood poured from his ears, his eyes, his nose, his fingertips, any hole on his body. By the time it all stopped and Levantia lied on his back with the liquid no longer covering him, he did not feel like a human anymore. He was exhausted, battered, and no doubt horrifically deformed.

He would throw every curse known to man by now if he still possessed the capability to do so. He wanted to spat upon the Tyranids for everything, the Dark Eldar in general for bringing him to this damned place and Feharuln in particular for not being able to save his own skin, the Emperor for making him come to this world of pain in the first place and the White Hero for denying him the chance to die a more decent death at the hand of the Necrons. Throughout this battle, he had been both prudent and lucky. How could both of those characteristics fail him in a time like this, when he was so close to achieving something for the first time on board the Eternity of Torment, when so many good things were expected by him to happen?

Was it all worth it? he thought. The damage to his body was devastating and he wondered if he would survive this. If he did not, what would happen to Felia and Darelyn? Would the Archon show the Farseer some mercy if he knew she was somehow associated with him, the human who just saved his life and assisted him in taking down the entire Tyranid horde? Or would the whole even be a Tuesday to him and he would just forget.

With the last ounce of his strength, Levantia gurgled the names of those he loved, those he wished he could see just one last time before his time came, "Da-re-lyn...Fe-lia...I...am sorry."

"It's good that you know your mistake and apologize," said the Archon who had managed to escape the ordeal relatively fine. "However, I will not have an insect like you mispronouncing my name. It's Feharuln, not Felia."

The face of the Archon staring deeply into him was the last thing Levantia saw before all he knew was darkness.

* * *

_**Author's note: This chapter marks the end of the Tyranids and Dark Eldar conflict. It also sets up the stage for relationship development between Levantia and Feharuln so that we can have the heretical bromance we all have been waiting for :))))). Alright, just kidding. It's not going to get THAT far, but be sure that our main character will have a brand new form next time.**_

_**The Tormentor Engine used to the Dark Eldar's superheavy walker back in the old days. For whatever reason, GW decided to drop this awesome-looking thing and replace it with the copycat version of the Revenant Titan. One of the reasons Dark Eldar suck balls on the tabletop: they have no unique superheavy. You can always ally with an Imperial Knight for some cheap cheese, though.**_

_**Hope you all enjoy it.**_


	12. Chapter 12: Confession

_Five months previous,..._

_This was not how it was supposed to turn out._

_Levantia thought darkly as he stared at the pile of mutilated corpses and burning wreckages that were the 7th Drachanian Regiment which he and his company of Tempestus Scions were attached to. While not native to Drachanian itself, the Scions had been through thick and thin alongside the regiment on numerous occasions, the relationship between them little more than just comradeship and not much less than a big family. Witnessing the unexpected, sudden demise of those they had bonded with for so long sent a pang of grief into each of their hearts._

_"Emperor damn it," Captain Appo cursed. "How in the Warp could this happen?"_

_Their mission had been simple enough, to reinforce a position on the planet Zevian that had come under attacks from the Dark Eldar. After their deployment, the Military Tempestus detachment was separated from the main force and dispatched to patrol another area where the xenos were sighted. After two days of chasing their own tails, they headed back to headquarters exhausted and worn out, only to be greeted by a sight that would exacerbate their misery by a factor of a thousand._

_The base had been torn asunder as though a storm had just swept through. Every structure from fabric tents to concrete bunkers lied broken. Vehicles were wrecked and bodies littered everywhere. But the most disturbing part of all, the part that would give nightmares to normal men and send chills down the spine of even the bravest warrior, was the fact not a single head could be found. Every corpse in the area had been relieved of anything above the shoulder. To Levantia's horror, the methods they used were not the same with some chopped away relatively clean by blades and others messy and unkempt, probably the work of claws or very sharp fingers. A veteran who had set foot on dozens of warzones, Levantia was no stranger to the concept of cruelty, from the savage Orks and Tyranids or the ancient Necrons and daemons whose only desire was to maim and kill anyone they saw to the more insidious Chaos Space Marines who recycled the corpses of their own battle brothers by grinding them down and extract whatever inside worth taking. Even the Inquisition of the Imperium would not hesitate to sentence entire worlds to total extermination should evidence of an uncontrollable malicious threat become palpable. But for all their brutality, these factions were driven by needs and displayed nonchalance towards anyone other than themselves, their victims only the ones unfortunate to get in the way. That was not the case with the Dark Eldar._

_Many warriors who took to the battlefield of the 42nd millennium collected skulls from their slain opponents, not all of them enemies of the Imperium. Khorne Berserker, in particular, saw it as a necessity to gain favour to their patron god or among themselves or just for the satisfaction, but even they were thorough in their pursuit and honourable enough to grant their foe a swift and painless death whenever possible. This was nothing like that. Judging by the lack of other injuries on some of the bodies it was safe to say these poor lads were still alive when the Dark Eldar worked on them. The variety of methods and tools employed make it looked as though a competition had taken place in here to see who could rip out a human's head from his body in the most spectacular manner._

_"Easy there, Levantia," said Ayla as she supported him with a hand on his belly and another on his shoulder. "You are not over-thinking about this, aren't you?"_

_His friends told him he had a knack for observation and (both logical and illogical) deductions, that Levantia did not deny. Just imagining what had taken place in this place made him want to vomit. In fact, he did. Throwing away his helmet, Levantia took a deep inhale before emptying the content of his stomach._

_Disgusting._

_Absolutely disgusting._

_There were no practical skills to be honed by doing something as vainglorious as such, no tactical value to be had in that, not even to demoralize the remaining force because if that was the case, the Imperial flag would not have been left so intact as it was here._

_This was not even a battle. It was a massacre, a feast for the soul thieves whose thirst could not be sated by a sea of blood. The bastards must have really enjoyed every moment of this._

_"I am fine," Levantia lied. Though some part of him wanted to lash out his anger at the degenerate aliens, he did not want to frighten or make his comrades worry more than they were already._

_"This is some really messed up stuff here," commented Oroach. "Fucking xenos. This is why we can't have nice things with them."_

_"How did they do this anyway?" asked Pola incredulously. "This area was supposed to be light on enemy activity, wasn't it?"_

_For the last few days before the Tempestus Scion departure, the advanced scanners they brought with indicated no anti-grav vehicle presence, no Webway portal opening and no abnormal Warp disturbances. Levantia did not find this to make much sense: if the Dark Eldar were to attack, they would have to do so without most of their heavy vehicles and fliers, meaning that they would have to rely on infantry which the Drachanian had plenty of counters to offer. Imperial patrols in this area could not cover all grounds, but they tried their best to keep openings as few as possible. How the Dark Eldar force, consisting primarily of light infantry, could avoid detection, catch by surprise and overwhelm Imperial defence so swiftly and proficiently spoke of unnaturally good leadership._

_It felt as if the xenos commander could literally see or even predict every move by Imperial force accurately._

_"All units, fall back to our transport," Appo gave out his command. "Our cause here has been lost, but have my word that the death of our comrades will not go forgotten or without retribution. We will link up with the Planetary Defence Forces, inform them what is going on, and we shall come back here to teach the xenos a lesson of our mind at another date."_

_As the Scions prepared to depart, a dark energy beam hit one of the Taurox and blew off its turret. Before they could react, tiny crystalline shards gleaming with purple light rained down upon them as though the sky itself had fallen. While the carapace armour they had was resilient against whatever was coming at them, the sheer volume of fire meant lucky hits were all too common. And with more firepower added in the form of pencil-size shrapnel and belching black plasma balls hurled at them, the Scions died even faster. Another Taurox went up in flame as two dark beams seared through its belly and detonated the munition stored within. The third and last stopped functioning entirely after struck by crackling lightning that caused its electrical components to go haywire._

_"Regroup and return fire," Appo shouted over the battlefield. His was the only voice spoke, the Scions fully adapted to any situation and seeing no reason to waste their lung on unnecessary details._

_Reeling from the losses, the stormtroopers took cover and retaliated. The Dark Eldar were making use of the rocky terrain as well as the lack of darkness to conceal themselves. With night vision gear and targeters, the Imperial response was effective considering half their force and all of the vehicles were destroyed in the initial strike and numerous xenos were dropped._

_As he picked out a Dark Eldar with a blaster who tried to blend in within a bush and did not see much of a reason to duck, Levantia saw his earlier guess was correct. There were no vehicles in place. The Dark Eldar had wiped out an entire regiment with armour support with an army full of infantry._

_With a battlecry in _alien_ language, the Dark Eldar burst from their cover and decided to meet the Imperials head-on. Many were cut down in their charge, the lack of supporting vehicle really hurting them in this respect, but their inhuman agility allowed them to close the distance swiftly._

_"Watch out from the sky, argh..." Ayla's cry was cut off abruptly as a needle penetrated her armour at the neck and sent her into a cramping state._

_Like fallen angels descending from the heaven, the Hellions fell upon the remaining Tempestus Scions with sadistic glee, sending limbs and heads flying in all directions. Their slaughter was met with little resistance and by the time the rest of the Dark Eldar joined in, it was all over._

_Levantia knocked down a Hellions from his skyboard with the butt of his gun. Before he could finish his foe off, another alien on foot clad in skimpy armour rushed at him only to eat a hotshot round to the face. A third alien knocked him sideways with a brutal whip that all but shattered the armaplas plate upon impact._

_As he went down, Levantia took one last glance at his comrades as tears filled his vision. These were the people he knew since his new life, people he had been training and eating and talking and having fun with for nearly twenty years, people who had accompanied him to hell and back on more occasions than he could count. And now they were gone. All of them._

_Sweet little Ayla who always cared for her comrades more than anyone in the Astra Militarum should. Levantia thought about confessing with her one day, but it was too late at this point._

_Oroach, one of the few people who lived through a duel with a Khorne Bezerker, courtesy of a lucky shot from a Vanquisher cannon. There was no divine intervention here to save him this time._

_Slick Pola with his outrageous humour and talent at making Commissars lose their nerves while still keeping their pistols inside their holster. No amount of quick-wit could help now when the odds were all stacked against him._

_And Appo the Tempestor Prime. Despite being his commander for such a long time, Levantia could not recall any fond memory of him. Probably not going to matter, for they both would be dead and forgotten soon enough._

Levantia's_ head was spinning. He was as sad as he was enraged, not just at the xenos but also at the very concept of being a servant of the Imperium. What was the meaning of that, to serve the Throne selflessly for so long only to meet an ignoble end? Why did they all become the finest defenders of mankind second only to the Adeptus Astartes in the first place, when all paths lead to something like this?_

_The Emperor protects._

_No, if the Emperor truly protects, today must have been his day off._

_A boot stomped on his skull and Levantia suddenly lost all sense of consciousness._

* * *

With considerable effort, Levantia managed to open his eyes. After so long being out of order, his eyelids had become glued together, the chemical infection helping to defuse his flesh as well. He remembered being too close when the spawning pool blew up in a tsunami of bio-fluid mixed with dangerous toxins he and the Archon threw in to destroy it. If he had just let the Archon do it alone, if only his thirst for involvement and for recognition did not get the better of him, things might have worked out a lot better. As it stood, a good portion of his skin was gone now, revealing the tissue and blood veins underneath at numerous places. Without the protection of the epidermis, he felt exposed and vulnerable to the cold air brushing against him and even the soft fabric he was laid on.

A soft fabric he was laid on!

Levantia took in this detail with astonishment. Though the chamber was dark much like anywhere on this ship, he was sure this was not the cell the overseers were allocated to. The bed he was on (a real freaking bed!) was among many others in the room, where the Dark Eldar were also undergoing medical treatment following the Tyranid attack. Levantia wondered if the battle was won; judging by the very quiet atmosphere around and the way the doctors tended to their patients without urgency the answer was likely yes.

Sveltanar mentioned working at the medical bay where Crox "took care" of the injured in his own ways. This did not seem like what he had described. There were only a dozen other patients in the room, suffering various degrees of injuries ranging from deep scratches to amputation to chemical burns. Some of them looked to be in some sort of catatonic state with eyes dead open. They were restrained to the bed in tight bonds and strange devices and wards surrounded them. Remembering how the Dark Eldar initially responded to Felia being close to them, Levantia presumed these poor bastards were victims of psychic attacks and bore the risk of daemonic possession.

The Haemonculus himself was nowhere to be seen here, though his Wracks were the one tending to the patients. Unlike the overall perception of the Dark Eldar as a callous and sadistic species, these surgeons and apothecaries treated the injured with care and tenderness, giving Levantia the impression these patients must be holding important positions or rich enough to afford such treatment. One of the Wracks noticed Levantia's awakening and walked closer. A chill run down Levantia's spine as the blank mask of the mutated Dark Eldar stared straight at him.

"You have finally come to, Mon'keigh," he said in a rasping voice. Despite his tone, he spoke Low Gothic fluently. "I have good news an bad new. Which one would you like to hear?"

For a moment, Levantia was stunned. Then, realizing his fear was unnecessary given if the Dark Eldar wanted something horrible to him, they would not have picked this place to carry it out, not when there were genuine people who really needed help lying around, he replied, "The bad one... Please."

"They always want the bad one first," the Wrack murmured. "34% of your skin is gone now. You look like an avocado who just had sex with an older avocado. And not gently either, I am talking about hate fuck here."

"That bad?" Levantia never considered handsome, but in all honesty, he was good-looking, at least good enough to attract the attention of one particular Dark Eldar who he now had a shady relationship with. He wondered if he could ever really accept his new appearance or not.

"Disfigurement is the last thing you should be worried about at this stage," the Wrack continued. "See, we enjoy protection from the environment because our body has always had a natural shield surrounding it. Without it, well let's just say it's nothing pretty. Just stay away from sharp and radioactive things and your life might last a little longer. Be thankful you are still alive after that explosion."

"And the good news?" Levantia asked sheepishly.

"That is it," the Wrack replied. "The whole point about you being alive. Is that not good enough for you, Mon'keigh? More than a thousand Dark Eldar died in the last battle and you, a lowly being, somehow managed to evade the grasp of Morai-Heg."

"Sorry for your losses."

"You shouldn't be." The Dark Eldar sighed behind his mask as he approached Levantia with a needle the size of a chopstick in one of his four hands. The sight of a hideous being about to inject him with an Emperor-knows-what sent shivers across his whole body.

"What is that?" asked Levantia, frightened.

"Just some drug to make you feel better," the Wrack assured him. "It eases your pain, dampens your senses, puts you to a more comfortable state. Not something we would normally prescribe to ourselves, but I do recognize the differences between our physiologies."

"I think I will skip on that," said Levantia. "How long have I been out?"

"Six cycles."

"Did we win?"

"Sure we did. The Great Devourers have underestimated the strength of the Eternity of Torment, that is their last mistake. We blasted the main Hive Fleet to bits and inject every fragment with sleeper toxin that could only be activated when another Hive Fleet attempts to absorb them. You see, simply killing the foe is not never enough for us. We make sure they suffer the most before death claims them and after that, we make trophies out of their corpses, we spoil their legacy, we condemn every single one of their associates to the same fate. That is the way of the Dark Eldar."

"Great to hear that," said Levantia, feeling strangely relieved at the way the Dark Eldar handle their enemies. The Tyranids were a major threat to all factions in the galaxy, Imperium included. Any help from the Dark Eldar to stem their advance, regardless their intention, was a plus in his book.

Looking at the Wrack again, Levantia saw a pattern emerging. Even though he still held the Dark Eldar in general with disgust and contempt, which was exactly the way they held him in return most the time, there seemed to be a correlation between knowing to speak Low Gothic and being more reasonable, Darelyn, Feharuln, Crox and the Sybarite commanding the overseers examples of that. Perhaps all it required was the language barrier to be breached and then humans and Dark Eldar would not be so hostile to each other anymore.

With a pause, he made a bolder question, reckoning the Wrack was not someone going to skin him alive anytime soon, "I am just a human. Why am I getting all of these...privileges? Why do you seem so concerned about my well-being?"

"The Archon demands it," the Wrack explained evenly. "I get credit to do this you know. As much as I would love to eat your liver right here and now, doing so would cost me my own liver in the process. I don't know what you did back then, but if the Archon personally recommends you, then I shall gladly accept you as something more than dirt stuck on the bottom of my boot."

"I am glad I am being regarded that way," said Levantia. About time too. After being belittled, disgraced and abused for so long, now it was his time to shine and prove that humans were much more than the stupid, slow and inferior in every way species the Dark Eldar often stereotyped them to be. If the Sslyth and other alien races could make peace with the Dark Eldar, then why not humans as well?

Now that his situation was bound to improve, what about the rest of the humans, assuming some of them had survived the battle against the Tyranids. Could he extend this warm treatment of the Archon to them as well, or was it all exclusive to him?

Felia, what would become of her now? She was a psyker, and psykers were not welcomed on board any Dark Eldar ship. The Archon's influence had kept her safe for so long, but recent events had seen her falling out of favour with him. Whichever the case, Levantia would do anything in his power to protect her. After all they had been through together, she deserved better as well.

And Darelyn, would she...?

As he was deep in thought, he did not notice a familiar face materialize at the edge of his vision. Before he could react, a cold hand touched on his cheek and a soft voice whispered next to his ears, "Miss me? I bet you do."

Speak of the devil.

"Darelyn," Levantia stuttered. "I...ah...did not expect you to..."

"What do you mean you did not expect me to come?" Darelyn cooed. "Have your brain been melted so that you have forgotten about me already, or is it just the normal short memory of you Mon'keigh?"

"She has been visiting you every cycle since the battle," said the Wrack. "That's a bit rude of you to say that, even by our standards."

"No, wait," Levantia tried to explain. "What I mean is..."

"Could you leave us alone for a moment?" Darelyn gave her demand to the Wrack.

"Of course," he nodded. "Just make sure not to kill him before I get the credit, alright?"

Before Levantia got to say anything, Darelyn cut in with a sudden outburst. "I am not worthy of your attention, aren't I?" Levantia had never seen her being so mad before, not even during her confrontation with Felia. "Me, a weak, pathetic, ugly, useless women. I am far from your dream girl, but at least I tried. With the full content of my heart, I have tried time and time again so that we might have something together so that the difference between the two of us would not separate us from one another. But now the truth comes out: I am simply inadequate."

Levantia felt a dagger into his heart. How could he so selfish the whole time? If he was to hold back to his humanity, how could he have let this come to pass? What she was was not far from the fact that he had been developing a relationship with her from the beginning just so that he could use her knowledge to improve his situation. He tried to ignore her when he suspected her motive, and then got as much information as he could when he realized she was just being naive. Naivete amongst the Dark Eldar was a sin, not only because it went against everything about them but also it made him pity her, something he thought he really should not back then.

With his mind still not recovered from the shock of being captured by the most sadistic race in the galaxy, he had made a silent promise to be the one who get to kill her, so that her innocence would be preserved.

How foolish he was.

But then again, he was human and she was xeno. They were like fire and water. Killing and hurting each other was the way things were, the way things had always been and should always be. Yet, with every time she came to him for ears to hear out her distress, for lips to console her and for a chest where she could lean upon, the barrier between him and Darelyn crumbled at a bit. The Tyranids invasion was the straw that broke the camel's back. If one good thing came out of it, that was the way it showed how much they needed and complemented one another like two parts of the same body.

"Look, Darelyn," said Levantia filled with remorse. "I can explain."

"It's that Craftworld bitch, isn't it?" Darelyn went on accusingly. "She is cute and pretty and better than me in every way, I knew it. Did she put a spell on you so that you would fall for her as well? That witch is bad news ever since she laid foot on this ship. I should have ripped her heart off when I had the chance"

"No. This is a misunderstand."

"No? Crox, it's him, right? I know you two have some very private and intimate moments together before I got there. I didn't know it would turn out like this. Come on now, let the cat out of the bag already and tell me what is it about his YYY that makes you choose it over my XXX?"

"That is not the truth at all. Listen to me. I..."

"Not him too? Oh dear Great Father. You are after the Archon? So the rumours are all facts, then, that you two have had a love-at-first-sight right in the thick of that battle. I heard you and Feharuln took down a Hive Tyrant together, and now you are both in love. Never have I thought a Mon'keigh such as you would swing that way."

Darelyn buried her face into Levantia crying while her both hands squeeze at his shoulders, her jet-black hair cascading over his face chest. Some of the patients were watching with anticipation at the conversation between the two of them, drawn by either the excessive drama unfolding definitely beyond their everyday standards or just the prospect of witnessing the agony displayed by another, their eyes brimming with sadistic glee. The more eyes staring at them, the more guilt Levantia felt building up on his chest. His breathing became more and more erratic until he felt himself choking.

"I am sorry," he managed at last. "I really am. I have been a terrible person to you. I repay your kindness with negligence and infidelity. Forgiveness is a luxury that I simply do not deserve, but if there is anything I can do to make you feel better, then I shall do it."

"Say it," said Darelyn in a tiny voice.

"What?"

"Admit it."

"Admit what?"

"What you feel towards me. Unless you wholeheartedly don't have any feeling at all to me, in which case there is nothing between the two of us anymore."

"I love you Darelyn," said Levantia firmly as he embraced her. The coarse armour she wore was painful against his exposed flesh, but he did not care at this point for the pain inside her heart must be a thousand times more powerful than this. "I am so sorry I did not have the courage to say it before, but you have got to believe me when I say this is how I truly feel about you."

"Really?" Darelyn looked at him with watery eyes.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"Great then." Darelyn gave him a wide smirk as she straightened herself and wiped away her tears. In an instant, she turned back to normal again. Her black eyes, filled with tears just a moment ago, now stared at Levantia with unconcealed amusement. "That's what I've always been wanting to hear. And don't worry too much about your relationship with others. I for once know that deep down inside, you would always pick me over arrogant witches, mad scientists and power-hungry tyrants. We are destined to be together, there is no doubt about it."

"Wait," said Levantia, realizing he had been baited into confessing with her. "You were pretending all along?"

"That's right," replied Darelyn. "Congratulation for being the first person to fall for it. You Mon'keigh are always so gullible, you know that?"

The audience seemed to have lost all interest upon hearing that and went back to whatever they were doing which consisted of leering at from not-safe-for-work pictures, picking off wings from a captured insect or rambling with the Wracks in Eldar language about something regarding their treatment. Levantia, on the other hand, wished there was a deep hole so that he could jump in, dig it deeper and bury himself under. Felia was right: he was an idiot. For a moment, he had let his guard down and now a xeno had fooled him into confessing with her.

But then again, while she was not being truthful to him, he was being to her. Even now that he realized he had been misguided, his faith in what he said earlier did not slacken. In other words, her acting was a merely a tool, a trigger to be more accurate, to bring to bear what he had been holding inside his heart, what THEY had been holding inside their hearts, the whole time.

This reminded Levantia of Ayla - sweet little Ayla who received twenty whips to the back for carrying a wounded comrade to safety instead of abandoning her as per Militarum Tempestus procedure. Their relationship had been brief, but not unremarkable. At one point he had decided to man up and confess to her.

And then the Dark Eldar killed her and took him here. He never had a chance back then. But now it was different. Truly, sometimes, the motivation to do something that would change one's life in a positive way came from the most unlikely source.

"Damn it," Levantia cursed. "You really are a Dark Eldar aren't you? Deceptive, untrustworthy, always with hidden malicious intents."

Darelyn sniggered. "You are giving me way too much credit, my dear."

"How are your injuries?" He indicated her abdomen that was skewered by an impaler during the desperate corridor combat.

"All fine now. Thank you for your concern. I am afraid the same thing cannot be said for you. You look like..."

"An avocado who just had some hate fuck with an older avocado," Levantia interrupted. "Yeah, that's what I got for being careless."

"What are you talking about? You did great. A lot of people are talking about you right now, how you saved the Archon, fought alongside him and took part in the destruction of the spawning pool. I even added my part of the story, how you saved my life and single-handedly defeated those Zoanthropes, Warriors and Genestealers. You are a phenomenon now. The are even calling you the Mon'keigh."

"I am flattered," Levantia chuckled as he thought of the way the presumptuous Dark Eldar reacted to being outclassed by a mere human. The details were a bit over-exaggerated as he did have invaluable help from both Darelyn and Felia on those occasions, but that hardly mattered at this point. Striving for distinction was something he had a talent at, both as a Tempestus Scion and as an overseer. The only difference was the way his effort was recognized by the people around him. Twenty years in service of the Imperium he had never earned any decoration, any certificate, any first-hand compliment by his superiors no matter how many missions he completed and how many vile foes he put down. Such was the thankless nature of being part of the Imperium. Five months working for the Kabal, and this happened.

Levantia thought about asking for what happened to Felia but determined not to. This was supposed to be their moment together, just the two of them and no one else, and he hated to drop a bucket of cold water on that. Without anything else to say, Levantia and Darelyn locked gazes for a few seconds that last an eternity. Then, as if on cue, they both leaned closer and pressed their lips into the other. Whereas the kiss Levantia had with Felia came out as awkward and desperate, not something he would have done if there was any other choice, this was voluntary and reciprocal on both sides. Where Felia's lips felt like any pair of lips in general (not that Levantia had ever kissed anyone before her), Darelyn's tasted like blueberry as though she had come prepare for this.

Levantia felt his body melting. Not even when facing the Space Marine Chaplain after running across three hills just to sign up to become Astartes did he felt so much passion burning inside him.

More. He wanted more. He deserved more.

He did not want to let her go, not ever.

Not ever.

"Awww," commented the Wrack from before. "How sweet. It's been a while since I last delivered a baby. Don't make me wait, will you? The Dark Eldar race could always use more Trueborns, you know?"

* * *

_**Author's note: And yes, another chapter. One of the reviewers said he wanted to see how Levantia was captured by the Dark Eldar in the first place, so here it is. On another note, this chapter is slightly shorter than usual because I don't want to add too much content into it and the next scene would take up quite a bit. So I decided to have that in the next chapter instead.**_

_**Some of you might question my choice to make Levantia and Darelyn a true couple before doing the same thing with Levantia and Felia. Well, in the description you will see which relationship is the primary of the story. I like the concept of harem anime, but the more I watch them the more I feel like the harem element exists solely for fan service purpose and it usually goes nowhere (dat confession in Nisekoi manga, LOL). Which is why I was screaming with joy when the anime called Chivalry of a Failed Knight actually had the main female proposing to the main male and they got married together (the rest of the anime is still full of complicated relationship including incest and fan service). Without spoiling too much, rest assured this is the direction I am also taking (no incest here, though).**_

_**Finally, can you notice the reference to Deadpool in this chapter?**_


	13. Chapter 13: We are what we are

_**Addendum 2:**__ 7__th__ Drachanian Regiment._

Background: _With the Korhal Sector becoming a major battleground between the Imperium and various xenos and heretic factions, 10 regiments from the lumbering world of Drachania were raised to aid Imperial effort. The 7__th__ Drachanian was a semi-mechanized regiment consisting of 7 infantry battalions, 3 tank companies, and 1 artillery detachment. Most of the equipment was supplied from the nearby Forge World Lyzarus._

_Additionally, each regiment from Drachania was assigned with one special detachment of Tempestus Scions whose presence was to raise the overall standards after Segmentum Command deemed the performance of most regiments raised from backwater worlds as "horrifically lacking". The stormtroopers were not Drachanian born and bred and, as a result, disdained by the rest of their regiments at first._

Tactics:_ While having no overall doctrine, regiments from Drachania preferred stealth over full on assault and the 7__th__ was no exception. In battle, they would always find a way to infiltrate or flank the enemy while maintaining a look-out force for keeping their own flank secured. While capable as a frontline force and armed with standard equipment as any Astra Militarum regiment, it was back-line assaults and sabotage the areas where the 7__th__ Drachanian excelled at. The Tempestus Scions attached to them was trained specifically to accommodate the regiment's speciality into their own tactics._

Notable engagements:

_The blooding (231.M42): Thrown into conflict against a massive Ork horde on the world of Daloran Prime, the 7__th__ Drachanian came close to being overrun and was saved only by the efforts of the stormtroopers they so resented. Despite low in numbers, the Tempestus Scions were discipline and methodological in their actions, their impeccable coordination taking down Ork mobs that would have overwhelmed a ten times larger unit of Drachanian. With the Greenskin defeated, the ice between the Drachanian-born and the outsiders were all but broken and they joined forces together as brothers in arms._

_Shadowy allies (232.M42): Apprehension reigned as the regiment was deployed on a mission to ally with a hidden Eldar force to take down the Chaos stronghold on Fate's End. Deviation from the pre-set course was punishable by death. The 7__th__ Drachanian assailed the Chaos fortress as planned but found their enemies distracted and unable to mount an effective defense. All shield generators had been destroyed and many fixed heavy weapon emplacements on fire. Within an hour, the flag of the regiment flew proudly atop the headquarters surrounded by corpses of hundreds of heretics and mutants. No sign of the elusive ally was ever found and no contact or sighting of any kind was made._

_Grab and smash (233.M42): During the Imperial assault on Sept Yan'Shen, the Tempestus Scion detachment of the 7__th__ Drachanian was tasked with the infiltration of the Tau's scientific centre to recover technological data before they could be deleted. Slipping through ongoing battles between the Astra Militarum and Tau, the Scions entered the massive complex and systematically eliminated its weak resistance. Though their intention was the spare the Earth Caste workers at first, this mercy shattered when one of the Tau tried to fire a pulse pistol at them. Hundreds of alien working-class were gunned down by the advancing Imperial force. This was not the first time the 7__th__ Drachanian committed an atrocity against non-combatants, and would not be the last. Many times the Tau counter-attacked and many times they were hurled back. Eventually, the Imperial stormtroopers vacated the building through the sewer system, but not before setting up explosives to pull down the whole place along with entire Tau armies still inside. While the capturing of Yan'Shen was a victory in itself, the true gain for the Imperium was the more than 1000TB of data recovered. _

_The madness of Vrok (233 - 234.M42): A secret experiment by Ordo Malleus Inquisitor Vrok went terribly wrong, causing a planet-wide daemonic incursion on the Shrine World Eupholia. The 7__th__ Drachanian was one of many regiments participating in driving back the Warp tide. With the last of the Daemons extinguished from reality, ninety-percent of the regiment underwent mind-wipe so that they would have no memory of the experience. No entry of this event exists in any record of the regiment._

_War of energy (235.M42): The Necron legion rose on the world of Hanovah to claim it. Ranks of soulless xenos warriors met the forces of the Astra Militarum head on in ceaseless battles that raged on for many days, intent on wearing down the humans who are subject to biological constraints such as the need to sleep. So focused were the Ancients on this strategy and so confident were they of its success that they failed to detect a strike force from the 7__th__ Drachanian infiltrating and discovering the main generator powering up all the Necron on the planet. A Deathstrike missile was employed to do the rest. With the destruction of their most vital energy source, the Ancients were now the ones truly worn down. They were wiped out within a week after that._

_Terror from below (236.M42): The 7__th__ Drachanian battled the Tyranids on the Agri-World of Kashlopp. Unable to break through the Imperial line through sheer number and unsuccessful with air raids, the Hive Mind took the battle to the underground by deploying vast numbers of Trygons and Raveners. Reeling from this unexpected turn, Imperial commanders ordered lance strikes from their battleship in orbit to dig into the Tyranid tunnel before armies of Imperial Guards and Space Marines were deployed down. Following an intense fight inside the belly of the beast, the Imperials finally emerged victorious and countless Tyranid corpses added nutrition to the soil of the Agri-World whose output was expected to double as a result._

_Lament of the Machine God (238.M42): Dozens of Astra Militarum regiments were requisitioned by the Adeptus Mechanicus to invade the daemonic Forge World Zarox held by the Iron Warriors. Though the original aim was to capture it in the name of Mars, upon witnessing the horror done to the machines, the Mechanicus concluded that this world was beyond salvaging. Slipping into the Chaos manufactorum unnoticed, the 7__th__ Drachanian swiftly defeated the garrison before setting about planting explosives at vital machines. Having downloaded as much uncorrupted STC material as they could, the regiment made their escape through ranks of Chaos Marines and mortal heretical soldiers alike. Though many perished, the data file collected was handled safely to the Adeptus Mechanicus. An Exeterminatus order was subsequently executed on the planet._

_Big hunt (240.M42): The 7__th__ Drachanian was among the Imperial Guard regiments arrived on the maiden world Pulchritudo to eradicate a rapidly evolving strain of Kroot after the Knightly Houses failed to contain them. For many days, they were harassed by the enemy who had evolved for many generations to take most advantage out of the environment and took heavy casualties after each encounter. Fortunately, the tide turned when the Eldar Exodite hunters offered their assistance to get rid of this blight on their world. These hunters provided much useful insight and the Imperial force was able to drive the Kroot population to extinction in less than a year._

_Deathblow (242.M42): The 7__th__ Drachanian was dispatched to Zevian to protect the settlements from Dark Eldar raiders. The regiment used advanced scanning technology to detect the xenos movement while the Tempestus Scion element conducted patrols in the area where the enemy was last sighted. Unfortunately, the Dark Eldar abandoned their vehicles and surprised the Imperials with a foot assault, utterly wiping them out in a savage melee. The stormtroopers were also caught in an ambush and annihilated afterwards. This event marked the end of the regiment's existence._

* * *

Today was the day and this was the hour. Levantia had never felt more excited since his run-in with the Inquisition where he was subject to intense questioning while his mind was probed to show whether he was being candid or not. It was the same level of anxiety knowing the insidious nature of the party and individuals he was dealing with as well as the fear of what his fate might be should something did not go right that made the two experiences so akin to one another. Back then, after the battle on Eupholia, Levantia was among the few allowed to retain their full memory of the event so that the regiment would be fully aware next time they face a daemonic attack. Whatever he did, he convinced his interrogators that he was pure. Now he wondered if he could do the same in front of the Archon, convincing him of his staunch loyalty and his willingness to serve not as a slave or a lowly overseer, but as a full-fledged member of the Kabal.

Five months he had been on board the Eternity of Torment and it felt like five years had passed. Every single day was full of misery, inhumanity, and degradation. The air he breathed reeked with blood and waste and contaminated by toxic chemicals. The food stank and overworking happened on a daily basis. The lower-class slaves had it much worse, but Levantia had had enough at this point. Not even the worst parts of a Hive World could be this bad. How could someone survive, let alone live, by just comparing what he had with what someone at the bottom of the barrel had?

His comrades who had been here for longer told him that he would get used to it after a while like they all did; once the nose started to register nothing and the ears and eyes having heard and seen so much evil they no longer reacted anymore, he would find himself fitting in just fine. That was NOT going to happen. Idleness only bred complacency and complacency negated any chance of improvement.

The chance to make a difference for himself and for all overseers on board the Eternity of Torment was at hand because he tried and he succeeded. Instead of going through the resource manager, Levantia would have an interview with none other than the Archon himself.

For the last few days, he had been making a good recovery, whether through his strong body or the Dark Eldar's drug taking effect making no difference. During that time, he had tried to find out about what had become of other overseers. With the help of Darelyn who generously provided him with the connections he needed, Levantia contacted a guy who rang another guy who talked to a woman who directed him (or them) to someone who refused at first but accepted once a bribe was given to gather information about the remaining overseers and send Levantia a pict-capture of them. As it turned out, only four of them were left, Relius, Dividus and two others which Levantia did not recognize. Nothing was known regarding their conditions.

While he was glad knowing some of his close friends had survived, Levantia knew that four overseers could simply not make the cut even as a supplementary workforce. Best case scenario, impressed by their ability in battle, the Dark Eldar might have offered them positions in their own rank, just like what was going to happen to Levantia now. Worst case scenario, they all ended up on the lower deck, which for an overseer was worse than a death sentence. That only meant that his task at hand was more important than ever.

Levantia was escorted by a Dark Eldar who spoke Low Gothic to the Archon's quarter where the meeting would take place. Despite the alien's fluency in his language, Levantia was too deep in thought and observation to engage in conversation with him. The damage done to the ship was well under repair and the hallway was now free of infestation, Dark Eldar and human slaves alike working their ass off to bring the ship back to full capacity. The grisly trophies hanging on walls and ceiling became a common sight again, this time seeing a disproportionate increase in Tyranid skulls.

The way the Dark Eldar regarded him gave him a reason to be smug. For every pair of eyes filled with hatred and contempt, as many that number showed a glimpse of respect or at least genuine intimidation. Levantia did not put on any mask despite some suggestion that it would protect his face. These injuries he incurred was testament to his loyalty to the Archon and the length he would go to in order to prove that; he wore them with nothing less than pride.

All of his confidence suddenly evaporated as soon as he came upon a sight that made his heart skip a beat.

As he was crossing the corridors, Levantia noticed a group of Dark Eldar either slacking or having already finished their tasks and currently having nothing to do. They had found themselves entertainment in the form of forcing a human female walking naked through broken glass with her hands tied back and her mouth gagged. Already her body bore numerous cuts and her bare feet were bleeding profusely. Though she was no overseer, the woman looked much better than most lower-class slaves Levantia had seen so far, as in she did not look like a collection of sticks covered by rough fabric. With a shudder, he reckoned that was because the Dark Eldar wanted to prolong her torture and emaciation would do that no good.

As Levantia watched, the woman fell down, her exposed body lacerated by the glass laid around her. A whooping cheer came from the sadistic aliens. Money changed hands and shoulders were tapped. It seemed they were betting on something.

As the woman was dragged to her feet by the Dark Eldar, she came face to face with Levantia for a few seconds. Levantia had half-expected her to give him the same look as the father of the boy who he tried to feed a week ago, but she did not react at all seeing a human in the rank of the xenos. Whether that was a relief or not Levantia was not sure. Was it because of his disfigurement that she no longer recognized him as human, or did she really not care whatsoever? How much of his humanity did he lose when the spawning pool imploded and sprayed its toxic substance all over him, how much right now as he looked upon the suffering of his fellow kin and felt helpless?

"What's your problem, Mon'keigh?" one of the Dark Eldar stuck out her chin pugnaciously at him. "You're feeling sorry for her? Are you going to cry? Just because the Archon likes you doesn't mean the same to all of us."

Levantia stared at her grimly. Upon seeing his deformed face, the Dark Eldar took a step back in shock, one hand raised defensively and the other frantically reaching for her sidearm. The rest of the aliens stopped laughing at once and all wore the look of apprehension on their visage.

Not even the xenos regarded me as human anymore, Levantia thought sadly.

"Nothing to see here," the Dark Eldar accompanying Levantia spoke at last. "More along. I am not waiting forever and neither is the Archon."

With a heavy heart, Levantia decided that this woman could not be saved. But others could be, including himself, the remaining overseers, and possibly Felia as well.

And he would do his best to save them all.

"Here we are," said the Dark Eldar accompanying Levantia as the two stood in front of a door adorned with intricate and somewhat perplexing motifs for anyone who had not spent their life in Commorragh. There seemed to be a story behind them as well, three in fact. The first depicted the Eldar gods living in the haven lavishing and enjoying their decadent lifestyle while the mortal Eldar below struggled against the threats that befell them. The second story showed the Eldar gods laying dead in a heap beneath the feet of a new god. The last part was exactly the same as the first one, only this time the new god was the only god left in the haven, and its maw opened wide as if in anticipation of a feast. Levantia assumed this must be what the Dark Eldar referred to as She-Who-Thirsts. "I shall take my departure from here, for the Archon has not authorized by entering. He is inside and expecting you, Mon'keigh."

"Thanks for leading me here," said Levantia.

The Dark Eldar stared at Levantia for a few moments, confused.

"Let me guess, I am the first to have ever shown gratitude to you," said Levantia.

"You stand correct," the alien raised his brow. "That is not the norm around here. Only nobles do that. The norm amongst us lesser-born is that if someone helps you, you gut them and eat their heart before they demand a favour in return that would force you into generations of servitude. Since you are a Mon'keigh, your ignorance is to be expected. Perhaps I should hang you in the toilet with your own intestine, that might kick some sense into you."

"And perhaps you should do what your Archon asks and get lost," replied Levantia flatly.

"Good luck. I shall come tomorrow to see if there is anything of you left I can flush down the vacuum."

"So very kind of you to give me such a proper funeral. At least I would not have to end up in someone's stomach."

The Dark Eldar let out a harsh laugh and left. Having no time to admire the Dark Eldar's architecture, Levantia knocked on the door in anticipation. To his surprise, it immediately opened to reveal the chamber inside. Unlike what Levantia had assumed to be the epitome of the Dark Eldar's vanity and excess made manifested, the place looked quite tidy and neat. The basic layout was similar to that of the captain quarter of an Imperial ship: pictures hanging on the wall, heirloom and trophies proudly displayed wherever possible, bizarre chandelier on top and a warm rug underneath. At the centre of the room stood a desk and behind it was Archon Feharuln Snaketongue who was busying himself reviewing data on two holographic slates while chatting with someone on another screen. Two Dark Eldar warriors stood guard on either side of the door and four more flanking the Archon on both sides, all heavily armoured and armed with large glaives.

For a second, Levantia was at a loss of word, realizing his next word could be his last. As instincts kicked in, he resorted to the way someone would normally greet a tyrannous human king by graciously bowing down himself and avoiding eye-contact with the alien commander.

The Archon quickly finished his conversation and said, "Enough with the formality. We are burning daylight here and I have tons of work to take care of. Having a Mon'keigh wasting my time needlessly is the last thing I want right now. Come in this instance."

Levantia did as he was told and walked slowly but purposefully into the chamber, the doors automatically closing as he entered. "This humble one apologizes..."

"As I said, enough with the formality," the Archon insisted impatiently. "I know what my men expect you to greet them, but you are not in front of them anymore. You know why you are here and I will not stress that again. Show me your real self. Show me that fiery bit of yours when we took down that Hive Tyrant together. Show me I was not drunk when I ask you to come here for an offer. Do you understand?"

"Yes... my lord," Levantia stuttered in response.

"What did you say? Does your savage race not teach their children the basics of speaking? You talk like as though an Ur-ghul had gotten your tongue. And you want me to take you seriously?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Louder. I have no time for whimpering around here. Is that how you address your superior officers in the Imperial Guards?"

"Yes, my lord!" Levantia almost shouted out this time. It was strange because he thought he should have felt more comfortable with this after so many years serving the Militarum Tempestus as a common trooper. Indeed, when addressing a high-ranking officer, bellowing was often required to bring out the spirit of militarism. The strangeness was probably the fact he was using the same formality in the presence of an alien, much less out of being demanded so.

"Good," said the Archon, satisfied. "So you do have half a brain and one-third a tongue at least. I am glad to see that my investment in the Mon'keigh has not gone to waste."

"Thank you for your kind words, my lord," Levantia replied as solemnly as he could, mustering all his courage to push away coyness and anxiety. "On behalf of all overseers on board this ship, I give you my eternal gratitude. To the best of my ability, I shall prove that your decision was a wise one."

"Your skills in combat is remarkable," Feharuln continued. "For only a brief moment, I saw something in you that I would only expect from the finest soldiers of the Imperium. But that is not even half of your adventure. One of the Trueborns, in particular, spoke highly of you. She said you took down a Zoanthrope after resisting its mind influence, lured a Warrior Prime into a trap to kill it and even survived a Genestealer ambush. What she said is true, is it not?"

Levantia mused over for a few seconds. While it was out of the question that Darelyn had exaggerated his achievement, the fact remained that he was there when all those incidents took place and his parts were always imperative. It was human custom to be humble knowing that no matter how great one become, they were still first and foremost servants of the Emperor who no one could ever go above. However, as far as Levantia could see, the Dark Eldar preferred assertive and aggressive personalities. They wanted people who could be reliably counted upon since that kind of trait was generally lacking among their mass recruits. The Imperial army hierarchy was based on both merit and length of service, the Dark Eldar on merit and birthright.

With birthright absolutely not an option, Levantia had only his merit left to convince the Archon of his worthiness.

Taking a deep breath, he replied, "I was a Tempestus Scion, a special infantry unit that is considered the most elite within the Astra Militarum. Everything I have been training for the past twenty years prepares me for one purpose, war. What she said I do not deny, but I will admit I could not have done all of those without any help."

"I see," said the Archon, putting a finger on his chin. "But you did do most of the hard work, did you not?"

"I would consider it like that, my lord."

"How long have you been fighting?"

"For the last fifteen years, my lord. I am a seasoned campaigner. I fought and won many battles in the past, until the day I was shown the true might and tactics of the Kabal of the Shadow Talon. I was arrogant of my strength and my incapability of defeat before that, but you made me open my eyes and reassess myself."

"And what would be your assessment of yourself at this moment?"

"I learned that nothing in this universe is absolute with the exception of war and death and that there is room for improvement everywhere. No matter how great or how humble the task, I always find ways to better myself. The long hours of labour harden me as a worker and the recent Tyranid invasion gave me a chance to consolidate and further develop my skills as a warrior. Looking ahead, I hope to perfect myself in order to repay for your generosity."

"Do you honestly thing you can serve the Kabal?" asked the Archon. "Even though you are a human. Slow. Dim-witted. Antagonized by the rest of the crew. Injured."

"I have little concern for what others think of me," said Levantia sternly. "There are qualities the Dark Eldar exceed me, that I do not deny, but in other respects, I bring qualities they do not possess. Discipline. Loyalty. Dedication. I am not trying to sound presumptuous, but you must realize the nonchalant, indolent, and treacherous nature of your own men."

The sight of the Archon nodding in approval made Levantia felt like a boulder had been lifted from his chest.

"Do you know why I take so much interest in you Mon'keigh?" Feharuln asked at length. "If you do not know by now, most Archon are not as reasonable."

"Please enlighten me, my lord."

"Let me tell you a story," said the Archon. "When I first entered the Kabal it was like sticking one's head into the jaw of a predator. Because of my intelligence, I was sorted out from the main army and allocated into the administration branch. Back then administration was still a new thing to the Kabal, a necessary department but one that it wished it could do without. I worked as a clerk, reviewing files, dealing with orders, talking with delegates, making sure everything went as smoothly as possible. Needless to say, I was despised by everyone in the Kabal as I got paid without ever taking to the field. Every single day I was abused. Everything I did was pointless for my works were barely touched upon by my superiors. I hated my life. And then came Archon Slavara.

To say he is the only person I pay my respect to is an underestimation. He is, in a way you Mon'keigh call it, my hero. He was the first to recognize me for what I am. He saw usefulness in what skills I brought and encouraged me kindly to fulfil my duties. And in turn, I bring him what he needed every time. Yet, as the Kabal prospered exponentially following a string of successful conquests, my job became more and more difficult. At one point I thought I could not do it anymore and I felt into depression, only to be brought back by his words. Never stopped fighting he said. Whether on the battlefield or behind the desk, all works involve a battle against oneself, and victory comes from conquering the limits of the spirit within. Eventually, the Shadow Talon became one of the most powerful Kabal in Commorragh and while Slavara was most responsible for that, he gave credit to those who served him loyally. Words cannot describe how proud I was when he declared in front of the entire Kabal that the success was no small part thanks to my effort, when those who used to look down upon me cheered in jubilance at my name."

The Archon took a pause before asking, "You can see where I am coming from, can you not?"

"Yes, my lord," Levantia replied. Whatever antagonism he held against Feharuln seemed to disappear at that instance. He could not believe how much the two of them had in common. For Feharuln, it was Archon Slavara the one who dragged him out of despondency showed him the way he could utilize his abilities to the fullest. For Levantia, the White Hero was the one he had always admired. Not only did the White Hero saved his life, but also because of his last message that Levantia chose the life of a soldier. Though his original career path was to become a Space Marine, being a Tempestus Scion was good enough for him. All those years of service, it was the inspiration from the White Hero that drove him on.

Levantia never thought he would feel this, but he sympathized with the alien overlord. Sadistic and evil he might be, he was not without a decent motivation for his actions. The trod the path laid before him by the man he worshipped, just like Levantia used to before he was captured. Where Levantia's path had ended, his was still going despite the speed bumps in the form of the recent defeat and Tyranid invasion. And knowing that Feharuln was in a position somewhat similar to his right now gave Levantia hope that they could get along.

"Really, then what is the moral lesson from that story?" the Archon continued.

"That anyone has an inner strength that can only blossom when it is nurtured properly and external forces play a huge role in this."

"I was thinking of my distinct lack of originality in that one," the Archon chuckled. "But I like what you said nevertheless." With a deep sigh, he went on, "Slavara is gone now. Dead thanks to his own folly. The Kabal he raised up with so much success crumpled in an instance. By the time I brought things back together it was too late. The Civil war had devastated most of our territories and the unity we once had was no more, replaced by blatant discrimination and leadership is nowhere firm at the moment, but I hope that with every victory I manage to grasp, restoration becomes more of a reality and less of a figment of imagination."

"And I shall do my best as well to make that happen," Levantia concurred. For once, he was not trying to impress his would-be employer anymore; this quote came out from the bottom of his heart and he would be damned if he did not admit the fact he meant every word of it.

The Archon nodded. "Excellent. The Sybarite in charge of the overseers, he is dead now. You will replace him. I will send in a translator as well, though I must warn you that breaching the language barrier only means that your men would love to hear you squeal and moan more. Can I count you on that?"

"Yes, my lord. I am ready for this task."

"Anything else?"

Levantia wondered Felia. Was she all right? Was she even alive at this point after being caught without her limiter and posing a hazard upon the Dark Eldar? Did the Archon know about his affair with her? If she were alive then what would be of her from this point onward and what plan did the Archon have for her?

"The Farseer, my lord," Levantia managed at last. "She helped me a lot in the battles against the Tyranids. Pardon me for asking, but what of her right now?"

"Oh her," said the Archon. "Strange. I heard that she was with you. The Trueborn, Darelyn I believe she is called, told me she was your only romantic interest and there was nothing going on between you and that Craftworlder. It seems she was mistaken. But then again, I have no objection against threesome. Sorry, I drifted off a bit. Back to your question, she is now in captivity for her crime. Bearing Warp presence stronger than what is permitted without authorization is a major offence."

"She did not mean to, my lord," Levantia begged. "Her escort removed it her limiter."

"Removing the limiter is not a crime in itself," said the Archon. "Running around without one is, for people like her."

Levantia felt on his knees and bowed to the Archon pleadingly, "Please my lord. Have mercy upon her. She did not know about the decree. I will do anything you want, just forgive her this one time."

The Archon raised his brow but otherwise his expression was impassive as ever. "I have no intention of punishing her for long. If you have been around her for so long then you should know by now how important she is to my plan. But alas, she is very stubborn and refuses to cooperate. Any pain and suffering brought upon her is not mine to decide, but hers."

"I will try to convince her on this one," said Levantia quickly. "I know her. I understand her feelings. Please, let me do it."

A smile slipped from the Archon's lips. "Excellent. I will see how your effort goes. In the meantime, I would like you to get used to your new job. Report to staff manager for your gear and tasks as soon as possible. I will call in for your guide right away."

* * *

Once more Levantia walked along the corridor, accompanied by the same Dark Eldar he had a conversation earlier. If anything, he seemed pretty disappointed Levantia was still in one piece which was too big to be flushed into the toilet.

And once more he came upon the sight of the pathetic woman forced to tread across broken glass on bare feet. She looked much worse than before, almost unrecognizable at this point given the amount of cuts on her blood-soaked body. Where before Levantia looked upon her with the same amount of helplessness as she looked upon him, now was different.

He knew what must be done. Slacking was not to be tolerated, and the Archon made clear of that. If this Dark Eldar refused to obey on their own accord, then he would give them an incentive to.

Wordlessly, Levantia stepped in and grabbed the woman just as she was about to make another plunge into the sea of sharpness. Cries of outrage coming from the Dark Eldar audience were immediate silenced when Levantia broke her neck with a simple stroke, ending her misery once and for all. The woman died, peacefully, before her body hit the fragment-filled floor.

Not sparing the stunned Dark Eldar any second look, Levantia moved on. The staff manager awaited. Today was his first day at work.

And already, he was loving it.

* * *

**_Author's note: Getting a job and studying for exams do no prevent me from pursuing my hobby which is writing fanfiction for you guys. This chapter features the second Addendum where Levantia's service record is explored. Knowing what he did in the past is a key to understanding his abilities and motivation in the present and future. Note that this record only contains battles where he fought as part of the 7th Drachanian. People in the Tempestus Militarum are sent into warzones at the age of 10 and well before they graduate._**

**_Administration plays a huge part in military nowadays, and it is criminal that almost every action and sci-fi movie discount this branch when portraying the army. The Empire in Star Wars is a prime example of this. Check out videos on Youtube which critically analyze how maintaining such a regime would be impractical. The Imperial Guards are administered by the Munitorum, but other factions are not mentioned to have anything equivalent to that, so it would seem implausible that any of them could ever operate as efficiently as the Imperial Guards._**

_**Hope you enjoy this one. Now that Levantia has been promoted, we can expect him to engage in heresy soon enough.**_


	14. Chapter 14: A new life

It was another day in hell.

On board the Eternity of Torment.

Only this time, Levantia was welcoming it. For the first time since many months ago, he felt free to choose his own course of action, free from chains and whips and pointless tasks designed to alienate him, and most of all, free from the fear that something bad was going to happen any moment. The dark days of slavery and dehumanization were all over. Thanks to the Archon and his generosity, he now had hope for a brighter future for both he and the people he cared for.

"Alright, men," Levantia called out to his men, his voice resonating from the vox built into his helmet. The Dark Eldar had this as well to communicate with each other from afar, as telepathy was a forbidden art. "May I have all your attention, please?"

The other humans hushed immediately at his order. No more were they lowly overseers, a rank that only meant they were the highest among the slaves, for they were all Kaballite Warriors each and every one of them now. Some accepted this with open arms while others expressed scepticism at going from reluctantly collaborating with xenos because they had no other choice to do so willingly because they got paid for that. Levantia spent the best part of last night telling them it was better to live comfortably in dishonour than to die in shame or to live miserably while clinging onto an ideology that only applied somewhere many thousand light years away. In the end, they all agreed. Even Bruno, a former member of a zealous regiment, and the ever-cynical Dividus seemed convinced, though Levantia doubted their loyalty would extend to anywhere apart from him.

While Levnatia recognized some of the human Kaballites due to having lived with them for quite some time, many of them were new transfers who used to be slaves of a lower status but luckily had not been tormented and dehumanized to the point they could not think or act for themselves. These slaves were not fit for working and served mainly as tenders, pets and for other purposes only a denizen of Commorragh could explain. Though the discovery that the slave system being more complicated that what he originally envisioned surprised him a bit, Levantia accepted the fact knowing the Kabal administration would not have made such arrangement unless the Archon had given them a solid reason to.

The Dark Eldar who were also in the same squad, on the other hand, did not stop bickering loud with one another even after the translator - Yanarr - explained the order to them in their language. It was apparent they did not consider being led by a human as something particularly fortunate, or perhaps they were disorganized by nature and would display such attitude in the presence of any leader.

"Hush," said Levantia impatiently. "I was told by the Archon I would be leading a group of warriors, not a mob of unruly apes. We have works to do. If you keep on like this we are going to be here for the rest of the day, nothing will be accomplished, and scorn is the best thing we are going to receive from the Archon."

Yanarr translated and one the Dark Eldar barked back pugnaciously.

"He said he is not going to follow orders from a Mon'kei - I mean, a human," Yanarr explained. Levantia doubted the fact he said it sincerely instead of just using it as an excuse for insubordination and infuriating whoever was in charge. From what he observed during his time as an overseer, all Dark Eldar, low and high, had a habit of that.

"Tell him the Archon has given me the title as Sybarite of this unit," Levantia replied, hoping the reference to the Archon would provoke some sense of fear into the delinquent. "Make an emphasis that we are in a tough position right now. In the aftermath of a severe defeat and an unexpected Tyranid invasion, our strength has significantly depleted, and the Kabal is teetering on the edge of being dissolved. The Archon has the plans to bring us back on track, but for them to come to fruition, each and every one of us must give our best in the days ahead. If we were in a happier time, he might have the way he so desires without too much of a deal, but for now, he must do what I say, or it shall incur proper castigation."

Yanarr translated back to the Dark Eldar. To Levantia's relief, the xeno showed some restraint and did not retaliate immediately. That was a good sign, for it indicated that the evidence was at least somewhat plausible to him. The Kabal of the Shadow Talon was the largest employer in the many districts they controlled. If it were to be disbanded due to economic or military failure, countless would not only lose their livelihood from the loss of job and realspace trading/raiding, but also their own freedom as the threat of takeover from another Kabal loomed over.

Besides, according to Yanarr, Archon Feharuln was seen by other Dark Eldar as a more thoughtful leader than most, a trait he no doubted inherited from his predecessor, Archon Slavara. His strange leadership style notwithstanding, he displayed genuine care for his underlings as his rightful property, unlike other Anchors who regarded them disposable tools. During the raid of Dashrak, when a detachment was stranded on the planet due to a Webway mechanical failure, Feharuln personally led a rescue team to assist them holding their position until the problem could be addressed and escape made, all the while facing an endless tide of Orks who were fully alerted to the Dark Eldar's presence. If he were to be removed from command either by force or by the lack of money to maintain his authority, that would be a blow to all the men and women under him as well.

Levantia had no idea he could have gotten so much out of Yanarr just from his conversation two nights before. They got on like a house on fire, something Levantia had not expected despite his affair with not one, but at least two and possibly four Eldar so far. If Yanarr were a human, Levantia would surely have invited him to his promotion celebration with the overseers, but he was reluctant in the end to have the presence of an alien ruining the fun for his comrades. Whereas Darelyn gave him basic information about the Dark Eldar in general and the Kabal of the Shadow Talon in specific, Yanarr gave him a sense of how the Kabal functioned and what its goals were. At this point, Levantia could conclude with certainty that there was truly something about Low Gothic that made the Dark Eldar more amicable and less like the bloodthirsty maniacs they were known for.

The dissident finally spoke after some thought. "He said you do not deserve this title," said Yanarr. "You did not kill the last Sybarite as per tradition. You did not show what strength or agility or cunningness that makes you suitable as a leader for him."

Levantia let out a sigh. He pulled out his helmet and revealed his deformed face in front of the Dark Eldar. As he looked directly at the offender in the eye, he saw hesitation and apprehension. That was a good sign as well. Levantia despised the Commissar and would never lead anyone by fear, but this one required just a little bit of that magic to convince.

"Look carefully," he said, addressing the offender directly instead of Yanarr this time. "Does this look like I have not earned my place in the Kabal? Is this evidence that I have been slacking on the line of duty? Are you still going to say that I have neither strength nor agility nor cunningness when I tell you how many Tyranids I brought down in the last battle, or how I, along with the Archon, delivered the final blow to the invasion by bringing down both the Hive Tyrant and the spawning pool? I am not presumptuous here; these are facts. Whether you believe in it or not is up to you. I do not care what kind of traditions you have around here, but when the Archon has put me in charge, it means he has faith in me, the same thing I have in all of you. Do you wish to prove me wrong?"

Yanarr wasted no time transferring the message and for a moment, the offender was speechless. He then nodded and back down in line. The rest of the Dark Eldar were just as dumbfounded to see such a display from a mere human. Despite their inherent crafty and arrogant nature, their place in the hierarchy was not kind to their mentality. Constant bullying and abuse meant that their self-esteem was as low as any respect they had for anyone else. This analysis and advice were made by the Archon himself when Levantia last spoke to him.

"Good," Levantia said as he put his helmet back on. The cold on his flesh was felt with much greater vehemence than when his skin was still around, not helped by the fact that the temperature conditioning unit was still not in operation due to lack of power. "I am glad we are now on the same page. Let us carry out our job for today without any further delay."

As per the order, Levantia and his squad were sent to an abandoned compartment in the lower deck to safeguard it from possible Tyranid re-incursion after the former unit sent had gone silent. The Great Devourer might have been defeated as a full army, but its many creatures still roam the ship unchecked. Despite the lack of the Hive Mind's presence to guide them which even synapse creatures could no longer make up for, they could still pose a threat to security, especially when they attack in large numbers. Another squad was sent down here the other day, and Levantia had been unable to contact them. For that reason, Levantia put all his unit on full alert. If there was a possibility, no matter how small it was, that the Tyranids had overwhelmed them, then he would not want to suffer the same fate.

The journey was eerily quiet. This part of the ship was mostly uninhabited normally, and with the Tyranid invasion, it was entirely desert now that there was no longer enough people to spread across every single part of the ship. Even the walls looked plain and undecorated. Dead Tyranids were still everywhere. The repair and clean-up crew had evidently not touched this place yet. There was no strategic or mechanical significance in this area, but the thought of having the Tyranids still on board was not one that could be swallowed easily, and so their eradication was the only course of action. The disappearance of the last unit dispatched here was evidence that the threat had not yet been fully removed.

There was a feeling uneasiness among the men, shared by humans and Dark Eldar alike. Levantia could hardly blame them. Wandering into uncharted territory to investigate a strange disappearance was the most generic death trap in the book. As for himself, this made him think of the time where his Tempestus Scion unit uncovered a hidden Necron tomb while exploring the caverns on the planet Tarion VII after a large number of miners went missing without reasons. On that occasion, despite losing half their numbers to a Canoptek Wraith ambush, the company moved on and ultimately defeated the thousands, if not millions, vile xenos automatons in their accursed lair before most of them even awoke from deep slumber. With that in mind, coupled with his confidence in his ability to observe and analyse, Levantia looked forward to the completion of his first ever mission as a Kabal member.

As they went on, Bruno stepped closer to Levantia and whispered in his ear softly enough not to let Yanarr overhear. "You let him off way too easy back there. I don't want to criticize you or anything since you are the boss around here, but I would suggest keeping a tight discipline over your men."

"I am still new around here," replied Levantia. "That will come later. Our hands are full, and I am loathed to deal with something like that with unnecessary formality."

"Just shoot him in the face," Bruno insisted. "That should be easy. And then we can go on with whatever we are doing."

"It was difficult enough that this squad is formed," said Levantia with a deep sigh. "Just imagine what they have gone through to bring all of us together, humans and Dark Eldar. I am not going to let that effort go to waste because of this minor disciplinary issue." What he refrained from mentioning was the fact the Archon himself authorized the creation of this mixed unit against the bigotry norm and killing one member on the first day would be an insult to that.

"Minor?" Bruno raised his brows. "It seems pretty serious to me. Insubordination. Insulting a superior officer. In my regiment, the commissar was constantly on the lookout for even the slightest fault to flog someone."

"I am no commissar, and I don't believe in what they do, to be honest," Levantia replied bluntly. "Besides, the previous battle against the Tyranids was devastating enough. Many perished and the Kabal is much smaller than what it used to be. I would not reduce its number by yet another one unless there is a good reason to and this is certainly not."

"That is very far-sighted of you," Bruno commented. "I never thought you would be so passionate about your job. I mean, they are just a bunch of sadistic xenos, and you are telling me you care about their well-being?"

"Yes, that is correct. I have some personal reasons."

"Care to tell me what they are?"

"In your dream."

Bruno chuckled. "Alright. I am not pulling any punches around here. I just hope you know what you are doing. Sveltanar, Emperor rests his soul, brought us together in the face of impossible odds. Those are some big shoes you have to fill in there. But knowing your abilities and achievements, I have faith that you will continue his legacy."

"I hope that as well," Levantia nodded. In ordinary cases, he would have smiled to assure his comrade, but all he managed was a stiff face. This kind of attitude was unnatural to him before, but now he found himself unable to go without. Whether it was the helmet covering his entire head he was wearing, the disfigurement he suffered, the pressure of his new job, the woe he had regarding his relationship with both Felia and Darelyn or something else altogether, the change horrified him.

The entire unit stopped in their track when they encountered a mould of flesh and bone. This half-eaten corpse still had enough of bleach-coloured armour to be identified as a Kaballite Warrior from the Kabal of the Shadow Talon, part of the reserved army. The body was fresh and could not have been more than two days. This poor sod met his end right here. Levantia shook his head wearily. The Archon could not have been responsible for this - he was simply too smart for that - but his administration as definitely the one to blame for this mistake. Sending people unfamiliar with the ship into dangerous unknown territory was a terrible idea, one that Levantia was sick and tired with thanks to his experience with the Munitorum. The Munitorum was a management juggernaut that controlled all branches of the Astra Militarum, their orders sending millions to glory or death or both every day. Mistakes were not unheard of, and more than one regiment had been dispatched to face mismatched foe or foe that did not exist. Even the Tempestus Scion was not safe from this, and there was nothing more frustrating than to battle imaginary enemies when their presence could be invaluable somewhere else.

"This does not look good," said Bruno.

As much as Levantia agreed with him, he would not overestimate the threat. The state of the body meant that the Tyranids were attacking for sustenance or territorial protection just like any feral beast instead of saving up biomass for anything. If there was any spawning or storing structure nearby, the corpse would have been picked clean. The Great Devourer was still a broken and hopeless force, and these guys just got unlucky.

"Contact HQ and report on our finding," Levantia told Yanarr. He then addressed the rest of his men. "Stay sharp and weapons be at the ready. The enemy is close." The other humans shouldered arms warily, and the Dark Eldar did the same without being translated to.

Yanarr spoke into a sphere where a holographic projection of a Dark Eldar wearing administration uniform could be seen. The two exchanged a brief conversation before Yanarr turned off the communicator and said to Levantia, "Our mission has just been updated. We are to eliminate the Great Devourer from this place, or at least reduce the threat to a more manageable level. There will be no reinforcement. We are on our own."

"That is fine by me," said Levantia. He had fought and beaten the Tyranids even when they were under the Hive Mind's guidance and in greater numbers. This could hardly scared him. "Alright, men, let us move out. We have a bug hunt to do."

As they matched deeper into the compartment, they encountered signs of a vicious battle with Tyranid and Dark Eldar corpses littering the place. The previous unit made a good account for themselves, despite their doom, evident by the fact fresh Tyranid dead were ten times as large as their own. Most of the Tyranids here were Hormagaunts, Termagants and Biovores but there were quite a few Warriors as well. In the absence of the Hive Mind's central control, there was no point in the synapse, and these creatures became as savage as any other of their kind.

Moving to the door that led to an open according to the map, Levantia noticed fainted scribbling noise coming from the other side. The Tyranids were there, and they were in for a surprise.

"Are you ready for this?" asked Levantia, pressing into the wall next to the door along with everyone else. He activated his night-vision gear and checked his weapon for the last time.

"Always," replied Bruno with a smug.

"As ready as we can be," said Yanarr.

"I bet my men will make twice as many kills as you Eldar pussies," Bruno pointed out his chin challengingly. "Soon you will see how gross have you been underestimating us so far."

"All the while stumbling on each other like a bunch of apes?" Yanarr echoed with a grin. "I think not. You can't even hold your guns correctly, let alone shoot."

"Eyes to the front!" Levantia shouted. "For the Archon and the Emperor!"

As soon as the door opened, they charged through guns blazing. Twenty-four humans and nineteen Dark Eldar rushed through the gap and before fanning out to engage their foe in an aggressive, if not somewhat reckless, manner despite still being significantly outnumbered. The Tyranids inside were caught off guarded, and dozens were downed in seconds as a storm of splinter fire hit them. Many fled instantly while those that stayed and fought, either too stupid or too confused, were dealt with mercilessly. Working together in cohesion while maintaining a fair distance from each other, the humans and Dark Eldar cut through the mass of Tyranids like a knife through hot butter, leaving countless corpses in their wake.

Among the creatures here were a couple of Hive Guards armed with impaler cannon. As he and his comrades put down these monstrous things with focused volleys of poisonous darts, Levantia could not help but feel satisfied at the retribution. The Hive Guards were responsible for wounding Darelyn, and they forced him to run all the way because he could not touch them before. But time had changed, and he was the one with the upper hand now. Vengeance was his and, by the Emperor's grace, it felt so good.

"This is for Darelyn, you bastards," Levantia cried out.

The enemy response was very half-hearted. One Hormagaunt tried to leap at Levantia, and he tossed it aside with the butt of his rifle as though swiping a mad dog. Where before the creature would instantly get back up and renew its effort, it now thrashed and screeched on the floor before Levantia finished it off. Elsewhere, the scenario was repeated over and over again. The Dark Eldar were natural murderers and, raised from core districts, these Warriors received proper training and physical support as well. Their advance was swift and deadly, catching scores of foe in a whirlwind of death. The humans, benefiting from high morale and strong motivation due to their recent promotion, fought with as much zeal as they had displayed while serving the Emperor. While before they fought for the sake of survival, they now had something to cling to apart from their lives, and that drove them to a higher level of effectiveness.

But moreover, the lack of control from the Hive Mind was devastating to the Great Devourer, an advantage the humans and Eldar were exploiting to the fullest as they pressed the attack. There was little to no challenge in this. Slaughtering confused Tyranids was no more difficult than killing a bunch of livestock.

"Bruno, you and three more take the left flank," Levantia shouted in the midst of battle. "Yanarr, have your men flush out those bastards inside that nest. Give them a taste of acid."

"Roger that," replied Bruno.

"As you wish," Yanarr nodded.

Suddenly, debris fell from above as a Genestealer entered the fray from the ceiling. Hideously curved arms and talons outstretched, it leaped directly at Levantia which no doubt had been identified as a prominent target. Already well-versed in their tactics and weaknesses, Levantia took a dive for his life and rolled on the floor as the creature flew past him. Halting his momentum just in time, he swung his whole body around to meet the threat. As Levantia watched, more of the infiltrators emerged from above to engage the Kaballite Warriors, more intent and aggressive than any other Tyranids so far.

The presence of these creatures was the explanation why the previous group had been wiped out, coupled with the bad decision to send them here in the first place. Genestealers relied on synapse to a lesser extent and could operate decently and purposefully even when the Hive Mind was not around. These vile beings could infest Space Hulks for decades, even centuries until a Hive Fleet arrived to assimilate them or some luckless expedition allowed them to spread their taint to a civilized world. They were a dangerous breed that could not be afforded to be left alone and the fact they were here was enough reason to send a search and destroy team to this area.

The creature came again, but Levantia was set this time. He dropped it with a burst of splinter shots which shredded its degenerate head. A second Genestealer rushed at him. Levantia moved back to evade a talon swipe aimed at his mid-section before gunning down his aggressor. Elsewhere, the Kaballite Warriors were having mixed results against the Genestealers. At least two, one human and one Dark Eldar, had been killed. Levantia recognized the human as Hamphrey, a recruit who was transferred from bar assistant to combat duty. Due to the lack of soldiers, slaves of other purposes had been requisitioned to wield arms under the supervision of Dark Eldar masters or in this case, a human Sybarite. Archon Feharuln had no place for weakness in his core army and all slaves that were not for (purely) torture came from a military background. Levantia never knew who the Dark Eldar was - with the exception of Yanarr, he had not known much about any other xeno in his squad.

"Focus on the Genestealers," ordered Levantia. "They are the main threat around here. Keep a distant from your assailants and always lend supporting fire to any person next to you."

The Genestealers were deadly in close combat, but they lacked the number to overwhelm the Kaballite Warriors and instead relied on assassination and disruption to pick out easy targets. Moving fleetly across the battlefield, these creatures struck unpredictably and without warning, many times abandoning the closest target in favour of another. Their tactic was sound, but that did not mean there could be nothing to do about that. Under Levantia's command, humans and Dark Eldar stood back to back with one another as they laid down overwatching fire against the oncoming foe. Despite a distance being kept between the two races, the wall (or walls) of protection was more than enough to maintain the Genestealers at bay. Any Tyranid charging at one unsuspecting personnel was immediately gunned down by his guardian. Unable to make any progress, the Tyranid advance wavered.

The battle was over in half an hour. Hundreds of insectoid alien corpses littered the battlefield, most of which fresh. All Tyranid nests found in the area were purged, and all cadavers were rounded up for disposal by acid. No biomass would be left for the Tyranids to use, not even food to sustain themselves. The Kaballite Warriors unit had lost five of their number, three humans and two Dark Eldar, to the battle and another eight more were injured. The losses were deplorable. As his commander used to say, "no victory is without sacrifice," Levantia looked forward with an uplifted spirit.

"I want this area fully secured," Levantia started as soon as everyone was about to settle down. "Bruno, I want you to take a squad of five to scour the compartment in the left wing. Do not pursue the enemy any further than that. I just want the area clear and not anyone walking into an ambush. Yanarr, contact headquarters and tell them that our mission is a success and we are ready to take and hold this place until further instruction."

"I ran out of ammo," said Bruno. "What am I supposed to do now? Do you have any spare to lend me? I promise I will pay you back when I can."

"I still have two third of my ammo left," Levantia frowned. "What have you been shooting back then?"

Bruno scratched his head nervously. "I don't know. There were a lot of the bastards there. And my fingers just got a bit itchy."

"Fire in short bursts rather than full auto next time. The previous team sent here will not be needing their equipment anymore. Let's see what you can salvage from that."

"If I find a Splinter Cannon, can I keep it?"

Levantia grinned. "As long as you can. Now go."

"Levantia," said Dividus, pointing to the group of Dark Eldar gathered. "We've got a survivor here."

"Good," said Levantia. "I would like to see him."

The lone survivor was actually a female. She was clad in white armour much like the rest of her unfortunate comrades. The Dark Eldar was covered in blood and fluid from head to toe, her helmet gone revealing a somewhat pretty face with dishevelled crimson hair and dark watery eyes. She was shaking visibly as Levantia's men helped to her.

"What happened?" Levantia asked bluntly.

Yanarr translated, and the female Warrior replied frantically. "We were dispatched here to die. A thousand curses to the mongrel that sentenced us to this. We were doomed to begin with, none of us familiar with the area and our map not revealing almost half the locations here. Thank you. Thank you so much for coming to save me."

"How did you get away while all of your comrades are dead?"

"I...I don't remember. We fought against them. The Genestealers were upon us. And then...I escaped."

Wordlessly, Levantia pulled out his pistol and shot the woman in the forehead. Whatever poison the shot was imbued with did not have time to take effect as the needle penetrated and deprived her of brain activity. The Warrior dropped dead instantly. Silence fell upon the group, and a dozen hollow stares were aimed at Levantia. The humans were obviously surprised at his sudden display of force, especially those who knew what kind of soft person he was. Even the Dark Eldar, who had little regard to their comrades, wore an apprehensive look on their faces at what just happened.

The apprehension became dumbfounded shock as Levantia ripped open her belly with a knife. His technique was not perfect, and it caused a copious amount of blood to spray on his armour.

"I thought you said you were not going to take my advice," remarked Bruno.

"Not that," said Levantia as he held out a piece of organ that seemed completely out of place in either human or Dark Eldar, not because it was green despite being coated in blood nor because it was too large to serve any meaningful biological purpose. The main reason for this was the simple fact that, despite being forcefully removed from the main body, it was alive and still twitching as if desperately trying to escape Levantia's grasp. "This."

"OME, what the hell is that?" exclaimed a human Warrior named Dractus, one of the few overseers who survived the initial Tyranid onslaught.

"Genestealer organic implant," Levantia elaborated. "Anyone who is infected will unknowingly carry the Genestealer taint wherever they go. They might not notice it for the rest of their lives, but any offspring they procreate will be hybrid, and the infestation will only continue to spread until there is a whole cult of them. Those implanted with this is also injected with a hormone that impels them to produce more children to the Hive Mind, at whatever detriment to themselves." He crushed the bloody thing beneath his boot.

Yanarr translated to the confused Dark Eldar. They looked to be more at ease after that.

"Nothing to see here," said Levantia authoritatively. "Get back to your tasks at once."

"Never thought I would say this," commented Yanarr. "But I am glad to have you as my commander. For a retarded, slow and ugly Mon'keigh, I can see now why the Archon has spoken so highly of you."

"And I never thought I could get on so well with a filthy, sadistic and duplicitous alien like you," Levantia echoed.

This was his first mission and his first success as a junior officer of the Kabal of the Shadow Talon, and Levantia felt nothing but pride in himself, having proved his capacity as both a warrior and as a leader. The Archon would no doubt be very pleased to hear this result. Looking forward to the future, Levantia realized it would only be a matter of time before the Kabal would raid another Imperial world and a fresh cache of slaves would arrive on board. Among them would be those gifted with superior physique but weak enough wills to be manipulated, potential recruits for the Kabal and he would be the one to train and indoctrinate them. Given how the Imperial Guards had been reluctant to welcome the addition of sanctioned psykers and abhumans into their ranks, Levantia believed the Dark Eldar would do the same. Only time could tell.

But for now, things were looking good around here.

And they were bound to get only better.

* * *

Farseer Feliandriel awoke from her nightmare feeling exhausted. Every detail of it still burned with malevolence in her mind, no matter how much she wanted them gone forever. She remembered seeing herself back on the Craftworld, in the beloved place she called home. As she walked into the garden, her olfactory system overloaded with fragrance from a hundred species of exotic flowers. It was a holiday, and the horizon was lit up with magnificent combinations of light and darkness, each of them having a characteristic of their own and each with a unique story to tell. Her mother was there too, trying to choke her to death.

But Feliandriel did not want to die. She fought back with all her might and in the end, murdered her mother using a knife with a jagged edge that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. The sight made her convulsed, the person who brought her to this world laid dead beneath her feet, slain by her very own hand. Her mother may not be the best person in the universe, but to commit such a heinous, stomach-turning crime was beyond her imagination.

She did not want this to happen. She did not want this to happen. She did NOT want this to happen. Confused and broken, filled with despair and self-hatred, Feliandriel tore at herself violently. She threw up and clawed at her skin. She bit hard into her lips and slammed her head into the wall.

And that was where it stopped.

What she had just been through was just a dream, but not a natural one, for the Dark Eldar had induced it to bring out the worst fear she had been harbouring inside her. And much to her disappointment as she looked at the deep scratches on her neck, the taste of blood in her mouth and the pile of vomit beneath her bare feet, she knew they had succeeded.

"That was lovely, wasn't it?" said Slax, the Dark Eldar who was in charge of her torment. "I have been witness to messy death and public humiliation plenty of times in this chamber, but to be the murderer of one's own mother? That's something new."

Feliandriel did not respond. Even if she had the breath to say anything, she was not going to let him had the satisfaction.

"The Chamber of Dream is a common sight on every Craftworld," Slax continued. "It is a place where you waste your time by delving into your dreams because you are too stupid and too afraid to handle reality. For us, it is where the most frightening things anyone has had in their sleep is put on display in front of everybody else, for a price of course. Mind you, none of us likes to re-experience our nightmare either, even if it is for free. But, if we do, there would be more dignity than that." He sneered as he indicated the vomit the Craftworld Farseer was stepping on with her bare feet, her dirtied toes twitching.

Feliandriel wobbled on her feet. Despite the lack of restraints placed on her, she was too tired to stand on her own. If the long hours of torture she suffered so far had not robbed her of all her strength, the nightmare had left her both physically and mentally spent. Slax's modus operandi had been rather creative in the last few days, going from force-feeding her with throat-burning chillies to spraying her with powder that caused intense and unstoppable itch. But compared to those, this was the worst she had had so far. It was a figment of her background that was hoped she could forget, a curse upon her bloodline, something that made she feel like whole her existence was meaningless because it was an unchangeable fact.

The incessant laughter of the Dark Eldar was becoming more unbearable by the moment. As much as she did not want to give in to his taunt, Feliandriel was in no position to think straight. Howling madly, she charged at him, only to ram into a table and fell over. Slax's mirth reached a crescendo seeing that.

"What's the matter, little Seer? Too busy looking into the far future that you could not see what is right in front of you?"

Engulfed by pain and humiliation, Feliandriel laid still on the floor, wishing she was dead. But she did not want to die, not yet and not at the hand of these savages. If anyone here had the right to bring her eternal peace, that would be the human she had felt in love with, Carlos Levantia his name. Her opinion of humans had been very low before she met him, a bunch of naive creatures with short life-span who could never learn so much as an Eldar going through the elementary stage, but he was truly different from everything she expected. She missed the way he convinced her to sustain herself, the tender moments they shared together where each of them told the other of their past, the fights they had been through and even the foot tickling he gave her. If she were Lileath, then he would be her Kurnous. And just as the God of Hunting released the Maiden of the Moon from the darkness of the pit where the Lord of Murder threw her into, so did Levantia rescue her from the wretchedness she wrought upon herself.

Where there was excruciation, he brought comeliness.

Where there was sorrow, he brought joy.

And where she felt weak, he lent her strength to move on.

A sense of hopelessness hit her as she realized she had no idea what had become of him after the battle against the Tyranid which she was totally unconscious in the final stage. Whether he had perished or worse, she was dying to know, and since her psychic abilities were muted, she might as well died before she had any information.

"What? Given up already?" The Dark Eldar prodded the Farseer with the tip of his boot. "Look, none of this would have happened if you had been a nice girl and done whatever our Archon asks of you. Your fortune-telling means a happy Archon, you getting a warm bed, me not wasting my time and we all win. So, what do you say? Are you ready to accept your destiny?"

Once again, Feliandriel responded with utter silence. No word from the Dark Eldar would ever sway her anymore. No more would she serve these foul beings in accomplishing their based goals. If she were to suffer for eternity, at least she would not let anyone else be the same.

Feliandriel heard the door to the chamber opened and the footsteps of someone walking inside. She did not know what kind of conversation did he had with Slax, but her tormentor lifted her up afterwards and forced her to face him, saying, "Looks like there is a change in plan. I am not wasting my time with you anymore, so I win. The Archon has...other plans for you. If I were you, I would be readying myself."

With that, the Dark Eldar threw her onto the floor like discarding garbage and then left. Feliandriel lied in a heap feeling pathetic and helpless. She had no control over anything. Her fate was at the hand of the most twisted people the galaxy had ever known.

What had she done to deserve this?

Why had everyone forsaken her?

When would this ever end?

Whatever new method Archon Snaketongue was using to break her, she was not prepared for. Things were grim enough at this point, and she knew they were only going to get a lot worse.

* * *

_**Author's note: It's been a while since I last updated. I had exams and work to do, but I am back now with another chapter. Regarding how the overseers were so quick to adopt their new role, I was on the edge whether I should write the part where Levantia convinces them or not. In the end, I chose not to and have it as given. I just feel like it would take too long for something that is not going to be important in the story later on.**_

_**I am a player of Warhammer 40k, both on the computer and on the tabletop. Here are some thoughts I have.**_

_**I have been playing Dawn of War 2 Retribution Elite Mod quite a lot, and it has been pretty easy for me. The Lord General is too good as a commander for the Astra Militarum and only after 50 hours of playing him, I can expect a win rate of 3:1 just picking him. I don't like the community, though, as it has become as toxic as Dota 2 community. Where Dota 2 people complain when you make them lose games, DOW2 players complain when you complain anything about their game because they worship it and believe with their entirety of their heart that everything is perfect.**_

_**The new Space Marines Codex is broken on so many levels. It's on par with the Necron Codex now. Now, I have had a game using 2 Dreadknights and a generic Aspect Warriors Eldar allied detachment (not even the Aspect Host) and defeated an opponent using Wraith Knight, Wraithguards, Warp Spiders and a bunch of Shuriken Cannon Jetbikes in only 3 turns, so I do realize that a lot of the balancing complaints come from people not knowing to play rather than the Codex being actually broken. But the Space Marines right now are very bloated. With a ton of materials available, it is not a surprise that they will sweep most tournaments. A list that can decimate the foe on turn 1? Check, the Skyhammer Formation. A list that can score 10 Maelstrom points per turn? Check, one full Battle Company gives you a ton of free Objective Securing transports. **_


	15. Chapter 15: First heresy

**_This chapter contains heresy. Just a warning._**

* * *

"If what you are saying is true, which it had better be because you know what I tend to do to liars, there is an intruder on board my ship?" asked Archon Feharuln Snaketongue. Though he received the news as cool as a cucumber, his glaring eyes were enough to tell that the gap between life and death of the one who dare brought it was closer than ever, and any word right now could make all the difference. Whenever the Archon asked, he always expected an answer and should the answer prove to be inadequate or falsified, the consequence would be severe.

"Yes, my lord," replied the officer, trying his best to conceal his fear. "We have positively confirmed so during one of our patrols. We found traces of them within the corpse hold that could not belong to anyone of our men."

"And what about the Tyranids?" inquired the Archon incredulously. "I do know the chemicals used to preserve our materials deter them, but what if one or two of them simply accidentally found themselves in there? Is there any evidence to further your claim?"

"It was too precise to be Tyranids, my lord," said the officer. "We have discovered that some of the bodies belonging to Space Marines had been butchered with certain organs removed. We believe someone was trying to recover what the Mon'keigh refer to as 'geneseeds' when we were distracted by the Great Devourer assault. The geneseeds are a biological implant. They are useless to us, but highly valued by Space Marines Chapters who will go to great length to see each and every one of them taken from their dead."

There was a long pause as the Archon processed the information. The officer stood sweating on the spot as he apprehensively waited for a response.

"So a surprised Tyranid invasion was not enough, and now we have an unwelcome guest on my ship," said the Archon darkly. "This is just getting better and better, is it not? So was there any other trace you were able to pick up on?"The Eternity of Torment was his private, prized property. It had served him in many raids even before his elevation to the rank of Archon. Feharuln adored it as much as he adored himself. Anyone who trespassed without his permission was making the biggest mistake of their lives. The Tyranids had paid the ultimate price, and now, whoever this intruder was, they were about to do the same.

"Not at this moment, my lord," the officer replied after some hesitation. "I have taken the liberty of assigning our troops to conduct searches as we speak, but with the manpower we have at our disposal right now, I fear it's a lost cause. This ship is too large, and there are many compartments we have all but abandoned at this point. Aside from that, they seem to have erased all other traces. The corpse hold was not part of the patrolling routine; it was only by accident that we found out."

"But still, this is our ship, is it not?" Feharuln continued. "We are the one who tread its corridors every day, we who set up traps in its dark corners to prey on outsiders as well as ourselves, we who call this our second home. How can a humongous and lumbering Space Marine elude us for so long? If not one of them, who else would be interested in these geneseeds? The Dark Eldar are the undisputed masters of stealth and infiltration, do you not think it is ironic that we are outplayed?"

"We are still baffled by this, my Lord," the officer said. "May I have permission to speak what I think?"

"Go ahead."

"Very well, I beg for your forgiveness, but I fear the threat we are dealing with right now is no ordinary. The disastrous raid, the Tyranid invasion and now this. Coincidence is what only a fool would say. It is also unlikely that a Space Marine would come all the way here for some trinkets and leave us alone once his prizes are claimed. With our diminished strength, low morale and the current lack of discipline, we might not have what it takes to counter it. Which is why I suggest we should head back to Commorragh where we will be safer and then, we can investigate this in more details."

Feharuln mused over the possibilities that may arise out of his decision. Though he was not a Seer himself, centuries of planning and dozens first-hand experience to many crucial events had given him a talent in analysing and deduction that went beyond the standards of most Dark Eldar. In fact, this cunning was one of the reasons why he became Archon in the first place. If he headed back right now with his cargo almost empty, his resources spent and half of his men dead, he would become the laughing stock of Commorragh. His reputation would be besmirched, the shares of his Kabal would drop as foreign investors became sceptical and withdrew their support, and, worse case scenario, there would be a takeover. In the aftermath of Slavara's demise, many other Kabals had been eyeing on the territories claimed but not properly enforced by the Shadow Talon, and this humiliation would definitely be the drop that spilled the cup.

In other words, going back now and there might not be any chance to go out ever again, and that, Feharuln could not allow to come to pass. Not after Archon Slavara had done so much to bring it to glory. Not after he had done so much to live up to that.

Feharuln had made up his mind. If he were to go down, he would not let his opponents have the satisfaction.

"To return is to admit our failure," said the Archon plainly. "The existence of our Kabal hangs in the balance, and if we enter Commorragh like a bunch of tramps, that very balance may well be tipped. I will not let that happen. There is no other option. We must take the risk and solve this problem on our own. We shall remain here until we can identify the intruder or until they depart, whether out of free will or a forceful eviction."

There was a pause. Feharuln could see that the officer was speechless at his decision. He probably wanted to express disapproval so badly but did not have the gut to do it in front of an Archon. His fear was delicious and in a more convenient time, Feharuln might have savoured it.

"Recall our units in remote areas and focus them in vital parts of the ship," Feharuln continued. "If we cannot be proactive in this, then we shall prevent the intruder from hurting us the most, while our investigation can proceed. Patrol in large number and keep track carefully of each and every Kabal member. No missing personnel should go unnoticed. No dark corner should be approached alone. And no place where even light damage could be done to our ship should be left unguarded." Under normal circumstances, this would be exactly the tactics the enemy of the Dark Eldar employed, a fact the Archon found fittingly ironic. Having conducted raids on lesser races countless times before, Feharuln always took note of what kind of manoeuvre and strategy his helpless foe use in the hope of countering him. And every time, he would give himself a toast of fresh infant blood when they all proved futile against his tactical superiority backed up by the Farseer's foresight.

As if an afterthought, Feharuln added, "And if you do encounter the intruder, be sure to bring them back alive, so that I can claim restitution for myself. "

"I shall...carry out your order, my lord," said the officer nervously, his voice shrilly and clearly not convinced. Feharuln sighed deeply. The Kabal was full of spineless idiots who were more worried out comportment than what was truly important, most of its best and brightest all perishing when Slavara did. Most, not all.

"Do I look like I am mad to you?" asked Feharuln. "Maybe I am. Would you prefer to leave that as an assumption or would you like to remove all doubt?"

"The former would be pleasurable, my lord," said the officer with more vigour this time.

"Then go and do what you must."

As the officer departed, Slavara wondered if he had made the right decision and if Slavara would have done the same. With a tired groan, he tried to calm himself. Either way was damnation. Then again, his fate was sealed the day he was born, and all he did was to delay the inevitable as long as possible. All Dark Eldar were destined to belong to She-Who-Thirsts until the Final War came and everything became undone. Commorragh would fall, just as all of the Craftworlds. Chaos would meet its lasting defeat, but not without great cost from all those who opposed it. The survivors of the Eldar race would start their civilization anew, one that those treading the dark path, if any of them made through the calamity, would not be part of.

The Dark Eldar care not for the far distant future nor what would become of their descendants. They focus on what was at hand and made the most out of every moment they had; that was what life was about, not the austerity chosen by their Craftworld or Exodite Cousins. One day, they would eventually fall just as all things must fall, but until then, they would enjoy themselves a bit further.

The end here seemed premature. Feharuln was determined he would accept it with open arm, nevertheless.

But first, that little busybody would be taught a lesson for meddling with his business. He would enjoy that.

* * *

When the order of re-summon came, Levantia was not ready. There was still much to do here. For the last five days, he and his troops had been clearing out the remaining Tyranids, one hive after another. Despite the lack of encounters on the day previous, there was still much territory that they had yet to cover, and the Great Devourer could still be hiding in there, waiting for another Hive Mind to guide them. Progress could have been made with better haste if not for the constant, and sometimes violent, bickering between humans and Dark Eldar over little things such as who got the spare ammunition or what kind of music should be played at night. It was insane how easily a fight could start, how long it could drag on and how many bystanders it could involve. What started out as a simple disagreement could escalate into a pit fight between two factions, something that reminded Levantia of the time when Archon Slavara duel another Archon to the death because of a chess game.

One time, Bruno caught one of the xenos watching something on his data-slate, or whatever the Dark Eldar equivalent of that, and threw a tantrum. He bashed the guy senseless before Levantia and six others managed to pull him back. Levantia had every reason to believe the Bruno would crush the life out of his opposition if not for intervention. He was going to have the troublemaker formally punished, but implicit pressure from his human comrades prevented him from doing so. However, following that incident, he decided it was best to separate the two groups for the time being and relegate Yanarr to deal with the Dark Eldar.

Despite him being not pleased with the result so far, Levantia took the order without hesitation. If there were indeed an intruder wandering around the ship, then it would be unwise to spread out the already thin army only to be picked apart one by one. The Tyranids would have to wait.

"Can I have a word with you, Levantia?" asked Dividus during the walk back. The Dark Eldar were pacing ahead of the humans, far enough that whatever conversation going on between members of one group would not be overheard by the other.

"If this is an excuse for Bruno's inconsiderate and incomprehensible action, then save it for yourself," said Levantia dismissively. "I know you thirst for vengeance for what you suffered, and that is a righteous thing to do, I will admit, but let me make it clear that are in no position to exact anything at the moment. You and he are on the same level as those Dark Eldar and you both will treat them as such."

"It's not about him, it's you," the older man replied.

"What about me?"

"Are you comfortable doing this?"

Levantia was taken back for a moment. Why the hell would he be asking something like that?

"What do you mean?" Levantia replied curtly.

"You seem to be trying a bit too hard," said Dividus. "You came up with regulations and lists of behaviours that are to be expected. You talk to each and every one of us to try to understand our motivation and strength. You are not leading us anymore. I have evidence to believe you are babysitting us instead."

Levantia tensed. How dare he? Why did it always have to be Dividus who irritated him the most? But...was he correct calling him like that?

"Great commanders do so," said Levantia. "I do not see any reason why I should not."

"But you are not a great commander, not yet. You are just trying to be one, and you are trying it beyond your capacity. Yours are the knowledge, skills, courage and perseverance. However, this is a difficult job that even hardened Imperial commanders will shirk at. Your decisions must conform to not one, but to very contradicting cultures."

"Contradictions can be cured with enough understanding," Levantia scoffed, feeling his anger boiling. "I have experienced it myself. If I am here as a Sybarite, entrusted by the Archon himself, what is there that prevents you from reaching the same?"

"Because you are different from us," said Dividus. "Because none of us is the same as one another. What applies to you does not mean it does to all of us. You cannot simply breach the racial wall that has existed between humanity and the Eldar in such short time. Their race is duplicitous and manipulative, while ours is zealous and close-minded."

"That does not prevent me from trying," Levantia insisted.

"And I look forward to seeing your success, but in due time and not right now. Heed my word when I tell you the more you try, the more easily you will break when your efforts are not adequately rewarded. If you continue like this, one day you will know despair."

Keeping a straight face as much as possible despite the rage burning in his throat, Levantia managed, "I will take that into account."

As they went along, Levantia began to feel uneasy for the first time since his promotion. As with his conversation with Dividus regarding the treatment of lower-class slaves when they were still overseers, there were parts of him that refuse to admit anything the man said was true and others telling him that self-denial was pointless. Levantia had not been on board the Eternity of Torment for as long as Dividus. Dividus had been here for years, decades even, longer than Sveltanar himself. And there was something about him that made Levantia feel unsure about. His physique was above average for a regular human, but nowhere close to what his comrades were boasting. In a system where only the strongest and most tenacious could make it to the rank of overseers, his presence in the upper slave hierarchy seemed out of place. Levantia wondered what Dividus had done to earn his place, something the man had been keeping a secret from everyone else.

Dividus might have more experience from dealing with the Dark Eldar, but Levantia was convinced that his knowledge accumulated from his study at Scholar Progenium combined with information provided by Darelyn as well as many first-hand encounters with the xenos would make up for anything he lacked. He performed well, and this was his deserved reward. This rank was a blessing, not a curse. Being the first human ever to achieve such greatness among the Dark Eldar should be something to feel proud about, not ashamed of.

What Dividus said would not deter him. One day, humans serving the Kabal of the Shadow Talon would be a common sight and not just a minority. But in order to get to there, little steps had to be taken one at a time, and he would see to it thoroughly.

So lost in thought was Levantia that he did not see a pair of hands suddenly appeared from the darkness of an abandoned compartment and snatched him into it.

He almost panicked. The Dark Eldar were sadists and murderers who preyed upon themselves no less than anyone else. Knowing that his assailant would anticipate a frightened behaviour which would only help to make his situation more helpless, Levantia decided to surprise them by showing nothing but calmness. Releasing himself from the attacker's grasp with a powerful full-body shake, he went into offensive mode and tried to pin his opponent to the wall. The Dark Eldar slipped away and Levantia rammed into it instead. As he turned around, knife raised, Levantia's bloodlust died down as soon as he identified who it was.

"Darelyn? Emperor's hairy ass, you nearly scared the living shit out of me."

"Only nearly?" responded the Dark Eldar. She was not wearing her combat attire at the moment, but a purple dress, its hem encrusted with multi-coloured gems that sparkled and blinked a malevolent melody in the darkness. Her sharp face and black hair seemed to blend in with the dark room they were in, as though she were part of it all along. This was something Levantia could not help but find lovely, for it added a level of mystery to it. Though what kind of answer to the mystery that was, he might not want to know. "I really need to work on it next time. That was an impressive reaction you had there. Most would start screaming and thrashing like a captured animal as soon as it happens. Oh, their terror always tastes so good. I wonder what yours would taste like. I am just dying to know the flavour of fear from the one I love most, from the one who loves me most in this universe."

"I do not think I would like that," Levantia said. "What is the meaning of this?"

"What do you think?" Darelyn pointed towards the single bed in the room. This place reminded Levantia of where he and Felia took shelter from the Tyranids as he pulled out the thorn from her foot. "You are a sight for a sore eye, my love. Don't act like a baby anymore."

Levantia shuddered as she leaned closer to him. Though her touches were outside his armour, he could somehow feel them on his eroded flesh. The composure he had been maintaining was all but gone the instant she removed his helmet and pressed her lips against his. She pressed her forte greedily, and he returned with passion in kind, their bodies rubbing against one another. For a second, Levantia wished he could forget everything and relive this moment forever.

From his childhood to his enrolment in the Astra Militarum, Levantia had been a staunch believer that humanity was the most superior race in the galaxy whose destiny was to be its true master. This was bolstered by the fact his mother was killed in a Necron incursion which he would not have survived without the intervention of the White Hero. However, one battle after another, his armour of his faith began to crumble. He saw the Imperium discrediting and unwilling to cooperate fully with the Craftworld Eldar even when the Eldar did half of the work. He gunned down dozens of innocent Tau civilians who posed no threat at all just because of a misfired shot. Captured by the Dark Eldar, he thought his fate was sealed in the worst manner imaginable, but as it turned out, it was not. While many of the terrible stories about them were true, the aliens were more complex than that and possessed certain individuals with values that a human could appreciate.

And now, with a respectable rank, someone to look up to and people to care about, Levantia felt he could go on indefinitely.

Then, realizing how awkward it was plus the fact he still had tasks to perform, he broke from the kiss abruptly and said, "I cannot do this right now. I am sorry, but I have got to go."

As he reached for the door, his heart sank. It was locked.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked Darelyn with a seductive voice.

If Levantia did not panic when he in his sudden what he deemed to be a predator, he now was upon full reckoning that he was in the same room as one. And this one exclusively wanted him!

"Anyone out there, help!" he cried as he banged his fist futilely on the unmoving door. He was sure his absence would be missed and his troops would be in search of him right about now. "I am stuck in there. I will give you two weeks of payment if you can let me out. Dividus. Yanarr. Bruno. Anybody?!"

"Your despair is like music to my ears," Darelyn licked her lips. "It seems your men are not that fond of you after all. Unlike me."

"Let me out of here, Darelyn," insisted Levantia, trying not to sound as though he was panicking. "I have duties to take care of. If I fail to report to my post in time, my superior will have my hide."

"Your duty is right here and right now," said Darelyn sternly as she began to relieve herself of her clothing. "The sooner you have done that, the sooner you can leave."

"What is my duty with you again?" asked Levantia, clueless.

Sighing in disappointment, Darelyn seized Levantia's arm and threw him limply on the bed. She then proceeded to discard the rest of her dress, leaving her with nothing but underwear. Levantia was speechless at what he was looking at. Her body was lithe and the limbs slightly long, her muscles somewhat taut. Her skin was creamy and pale with dark iconographies painted on depicting a frenzied creature which under the dim light Levantia could recognize only as a serpentine being hungrily devouring something that looked like the sun. Her movements were slithering and precise like a snake approaching its prey as she came closer to the stupefied human. All in all, she was more breathtaking than even the most gorgeous female he had seen on commercial data-slates.

"So, how do I look?" asked Darelyn. "Compared to that Craftworld witch, I am more attractive, aren't I? Why don't you just admit it already?"

"Well, it's difficult to say," Levantia replied while trying his best to keep his composure. The more he could talk, he reasoned, the fewer chances Darelyn would have to devour him alive. "I have not seen so much of her...exposed skin yet. So it would be imprudent for me to judge at this point."

"You have not?" Darelyn sounded like she was relieved at the knowledge that his relationship with Felia had not reached the level of heresy that was about to happen right now. "That's great then. So, how do you want me to do this? A full-body treatment would be my first suggestion. I have had decades of practice. My past victims - I mean ex-lovers - were ecstatic when they received it. "

Levantia shuddered at the thought of what she had in store for him, but remained collect and replied, "Can we do that one at a later time? Not that I have any doubt in your skills, but I would rather not have every part of my body dilapidated at the moment. Too much work to be done, you see."

"Okay. How about the mantis-style double penetration technique? It's really good and makes you feel like the warp is dragging you in."

"Maybe I should consult with Archon Feharuln about that first. I do not believe that kind of stuff is legal on board this ship anymore. Though I can be mistaken here, I just want to make sure. And Felia as well, because she is part of our affair. And maybe Crox. He has an eye out for me."

"That's it, you cheeky bastard," the Dark Eldar sighed deeply. "You will scream for me. You will sing the sweet song of agony. And by the time I am done with you, you will beg me for more."

Levantia did not resist as Darelyn started to remove his armour as well. Levantia wore a skin-tight suit underneath to prevent his vulnerable skin from scraping against the rough armour, but not even that would protect him for long.

"Ouch, that hurts," he complained. As his corrupted bare flesh began to show, Levantia felt himself unworthy. She was beautiful, albeit in a cruel way, and he looked like something that belonged in a circuit freak after the corrosive toxin unleashed by the spawning pool in its death throe permanently destroyed his appearance. Despite the Dark Eldar being portrayed by the Imperium as a vulgar and savage species, the truth was they did value beauty in their own ways, something that Levantia had become increasingly appreciative since his first encounter with the Haemonculus. As a former follower himself, Levantia understood the dark side of artistry, and from his point of view, he looked like an unholy mess not even the most inexperienced novice was capable of creating.

Him being with her was like a crow being in the same flock as a peacock. He had noticed how the Dark Eldar around him regarded his true form with revulsion and even his human comrades had opted to keep a distant from him. And yet, she did not seem to mind at all. She still saw him as the person he was, knowing that his inside had not changed.

"Oh don't worry, my dear," Darelyn assured as she continued her work. "I will be extra gentle with you."

"Urghh...Arghh...Ehhhh!

* * *

One hour later,

Levantia pondered as he lied on the bed, stark naked and next to the sleeping Dark Eldar female who was had the same amount of clothing on her body. In the wake of the Tyranid invasion, Darelyn had not been the same as before. No longer was she the woman who sought for his chest so that she could bury her face into and cry like a baby. No longer was she the one being manipulated in this relationship. Had her personality changed so, or what he was seeing here already an aspect of her all along? Her emotions back then were genuine as far as Levantia could tell, which was the reason why he decided to get on with her despite his reservation against xenos.

Regardless what the answer was, Levantia was somewhat glad that the change took place. He wanted her to be able to stand on her own, like all proper women should, even if that was to his detriment.

If only Felia could do so as well.

Looking at the alien, Levantia found her so peaceful in her sleep, which was in stark contrast to the predator when she as awake. But luckily, this predator could be tamed with too much of an issue. It was only typical of the Dark Eldar that whenever assaulted, they favoured speed and ferocity to quickly dismantle the foe and feast upon them. Should they fail to do so fast enough and their enemy gather their wit, things rarely turned out well for them as the xenos raiders had neither the number to overwhelm their foe nor the weapons powerful enough to shatter a cohesive retaliation. The longer any battle lasted, the more the odds would be pitted against the Dark Eldar.

The same thing happened here. In the first thirty minutes or so, Darelyn was the one in charge, inflicting constant sensations that caused her prey to make all sorts of noise that she adored. However, she was unable to capitalize on that advantage for long. As her strength diminished and Levantia's tenacity kicked in, the tide turned. In the end, Levantia decided to go easy on her.

This time.

Next time, no mercy would be given.

Realizing he still had much work to do and little time to waste, Levantia rose from the bed and got dressed.

"Darelyn, wake up," he said. "I have to leave now. No, we both have to leave now. This area will become very dangerous, especially with Tyranids and an intruder running around."

The Dark Eldar continued to snore. Levantia shook her but that did not do any good either. She seemed so tender and amicable that he wished not to use any more force than that. But leaving her here alone would be a terrible idea, so he wrapped her in her own dress and carried her out instead.

After a few minutes searching, he found the key to the room and walked out with the xenos on his arms. As he made it to the rendezvous point in the main hangar, multiple squads were present and awaited further instructions including his. To his astonishment, there was no resemblance of order and everyone were free to walk around bantering, playing games, even fighting with one another. If this were in the Imperial Guards, quite a few people would have a hard time, or dead time even, when the Commissariat got their hand on. Levantia had seen the Dark Eldar showing more discipline before, but only in the presence of the Archon.

Many pairs of eyes began to stare at his direction as he walked in. Some were pleasantly surprised, others sadistically jubilant, and at least a couple were looking at him in pity and disappointment. Levantia had no idea what kind of standard they must be having to have this sort of expression seeing this.

"I can see the reason why you were not able to join us in time," said Yanarr as he joined his officer.

"Look, let me explain this," said Levantia defensively.

"No need," Yanarr shrugged. "If it were me, I would do what you did. I completely understand the sacred duty you must perform." Levantia did not know whether to feel relieved or unsettled hearing that.

"Where are the Trueborns?" he asked. "I will leave her to them."

"Why do that? She's yours now. You should be more diligent with her than that."

"I am diligent here. If she does not get back to her post, she will be in trouble."

"Alright, I... Oh, speak of the devil," Yanarr pointed to the Dark Eldar in Trueborn armour stomping towards them. Levantia's heart skipped a beat as he identified him as not-so-Darelyn-boyfriend.

The enraged Trueborn threw a stream of words that Levantia did not understand at them. As soon as he finished, Levantia asked Yanarr, "Well, what does he say?"

"I don't know," replied his guide. "He was speaking too quickly that the message was lost." Now Levantia understood exactly why Darelyn insisted he was a petulant child. Much like Eldar from the Craftworlds, Dark Eldar Trueborns experienced a childhood that lasted longer than a human life while their half-born cousins were altered to age quickly so that they could join the workforce or the military as soon as possible. Born into nobility and sheltered from the hardship that the majority of Commorragh denizens had to deal with, many of them never grew past that point. Even Darelyn was not completely mature in her actions.

"Tell him to speak again."

Yanarr tried his best to communicate with the Trueborn despite the tantrum he was throwing at them both.

"He said he would like a duel to the death with you," said Yanarr. "Whoever survives get to have her."

Many bystanders were paying particular attention to them right now. Darelyn let out a soft moan as she pressed her face into Levantia's armoured chest, still sleeping soundly. Between that, Levantia's lack of knowledge of the Dark Eldar language, the Trueborn's uncontrollable rage and Yanarr's nonchalance with the situation, this conversation was becoming awkward as fast as an Inquisitor declaring Exterminatus upon hearing more than twenty-percent of the planet population had fallen to heresy.

"Then I would decline," said Levantia, shaking his head. "She is not an object to be awarded to anyone. She has the freedom to choose who she wants to be with, so he should know better and get lost."

Yanarr frowned at the reason given but translated nevertheless. The Trueborn gave out a smirk as he replied.

"He thinks you are afraid, and that you have no guts to face him."

"And tell him he is nothing more than a big baby. And I do not like fighting babies. They are annoying when they start crying."

Yanarr returned the message coolly. The Trueborn's fit reached it apex and he was about to get physical when other Trueborns arrived to prevent him. Levantia was glad that they did, for he would have gotten no way of self-defence with Darelyn on his arms unless Yanarr joined in on his behalf which was unlikely. For the very least, the Trueborns had their codes among them, making them a more unified force than others and further proving their superiority over the rest of the Dark Eldar. Noblesse oblige.

Wordlessly, Levantia handled Darelyn to them, and they left without saying anything as well. As the Trueborns receded into the crowd, Levantia asked himself what kind of future would he had with this son of a bitch around.

If only things were easier. He had fought so hard to get here, but now, standing in front of him was a nearly impossible obstacle. Tyranids, he could just kill them. Jealous boyfriend, not so much.

With a weary sigh, Levantia hoped for the best as he rejoined his men, just in time for the Archon's arrival.

* * *

_**Author's note: I understand the heresy scene here is not as well-detailed as the one in Suffer not the Xenos to live, but I would like to keep it at T rating instead of going into the M territory. I hope you still like it.**_

_**Regarding the upcoming Dawn of War 3, I am afraid it might disappoint me. The graphic looks too much like Starcraft 2. Dawn of War 1 and 2 have unique graphics, but this is just flashy for no reason. Furthermore, there are only three factions at launch, and there is no Chaos, so whatever threat in the story mode it would not be credible. I just don't understand why they are bringing all the characters we know and love from Dawn of War and have them fight each other meaninglessly like that. That's just how I see it.**_

_**At the moment, I am also somewhat invested in Age of Sigmar. I have hope that this will fix the fuckery that was the End Time and bring us a satisfying conclusion to the Warhammer Fantasy world. However, it would still have been better that the Stormcast Eternal had shown up in the End Time to kick some asses instead of after it.**_


	16. Chapter 16: For honour

Levantia felt a hole drilled into his heart as his eyes gazed upon the Eldar Farseer he loved. Curling into a ball at the corner of the chamber, she appeared to have reverted to the same state as the day they met where she was tossed into the overseer cell. Her golden hair was dishevelled and unkempt, more like a bird nest that had been blown away by the wind than something on top of a woman. Her once elegant clothes were in tatters and bare flesh bearing signs of abuse exposed in numerous places, each telling a different story with the same macabre ending. While the wounds on her body were less severe than before, she was shivering visibly with her hands clasped together in front of her as though she was praying for something. With the temperature conditioner repaired two days ago, Levantia doubted it was the cold that was causing this.

Moving closer silently so as not to alert her, he saw the pained expression on her sleeping face and the lack of colour on her skin as well as meat beneath it. Yet even in such deplorable state, there was something about her that radiated with a sense of attractiveness Levantia could only describe as intoxicating. It was not the same thing he felt when he was with Darelyn. Where the Dark Eldar Trueborn was a delicious cake, a combination of tender feelings coated by bustling passion as hot as a thousand suns, the Farseer was a shy and vulnerable flower with a hidden but powerful desire to bloom. Where the former helped him find his way through the darkness and into the path to success, the latter was a constant reminder of what he was and not what he pretended to be - the last anchor of his humanity.

Bending next to the Farseer, he listened to her laboured breath and the mumbling that escaped her mouth, spoken in both Low Gothic and undeniably the Eldar language which, despite his best effort, Levantia had not been able to remember all ninety-seven ways of saying a greeting. From the looks of it, the Dark Eldar had been more thorough with the torment this time, sucking out both her physical and psychological strength and leaving nothing but a broken shell of a once proud, if not dangerous, Craftworld Farseer.

All of this was too much for him to bear, and Levantia had no one to blame but himself. If he had been there to protect her instead of leaving her alone, if he had been more cautious when dealing with the Tyranid spawning pool instead of standing right next to it when it ultimately imploded, things might have been different. Felia was dead correct when she called him an idiot. What kind of man would leave his loved one unattended while he sought his selfish glory?

As Levantia put a hand on her shoulder, the Farseer immediately flinched away from the touch, her whole body pressed against the wall defensively. "Get away," she hissed with a dry tone. "Have you not had enough of your fun already? Your existence and that of your kind is an affront. Be gone and leave me to myself."

"Felia, it is me," said Levantia. "No need to worry. I am here for you."

Like a statue coming to life, Felia turned to see him. Upon seeing his deformed face, her expression darkened, and she let out a gasp in shock. "Isha's mercy, what have those black soul savages done to you? After everything you did for them, all the sacrifice you made and devotion you displayed, is this the reward they had in store?"

"No, the Dark Eldar have nothing to do with this," explained Levantia quickly. "I got this during the battle against the Tyranids. It was my stupidity that I am now like this. I reaped what I sowed."

Felia leaned closer to him, her languish movement telling she had to summon every last ounce of her strength just to move a few inches, and gently laid both hands on his cheeks. She did not wear any glove this time, and Levantia felt a surge of warmth running through his vein as delicate fingers caressed his skinless flesh. Her skin was incredibly smooth, its unaltered texture in defiance of the hardship she was going through and a beacon of the life brimming within such frail body. If watching her was intoxicating, this was like being put under a spell, a sweet, lovely spell Levantia wished would never end. Perhaps being more sensitive to everything did have its benefits after all.

"How selfish have I been all this time lamenting about the pain I suffer, not knowing what has befallen on you," said Felia. "My anguish is like a cup of water compared to the sea of misery you are in. What have either of us done in our life to deserve this? Why has fate forsaken us both?"

Levantia embraced the Eldar's tiny frame with enough force that even an Ork would have trouble getting out. It had been too long since they had a tender moment together, so much emotion compressed and so much longing set aside finally unleashed at that moment. "It is alright," he said to her. "I am all better now. I guess I will have to get used to this one way or another, but have faith that I will. You, on the other hand, need to get on as well. Your stubbornness and perseverance is something even a hardened Commissar would admire. However, this is not the time for that and what you are just hurting yourself like this."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Felia, slightly confused. She then took a better look at the armour Levantia was wearing and noticed how it differed from the overseer uniform. One particular detail was the presence of the full icon belonging to the Kabal of the Shadow Talon which was distributed only to its full-fledged members. No slaves were allowed to bear such thing, not even the overseers. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Let's just say I have been promoted," Levantia answered.

Felia's face took on an expression of horror, then despair, and then giving up. "I see. It seems I have given you too much credit. You are, after all, a human, naive and honourable even until death. You made a pact with the devil and called it promotion. You set your path to damnation and still you say you are all better." She tried breaking away from him to no avail. She renewed her effort with the last of her strength, but his grip remained unfaltering.

"You do not understand," Levantia pleaded. "I have talked to Archon Feharuln. I have seen him for what he is, and I know for sure that he can be reasoned with, or at the very least he can be bargained with. He is unlike any Dark Eldar tyrant you have seen."

"You cannot bargain with a Druichii unless you put your very soul on the table," said Felia. Exhausted and losing the will, she ceased her futile struggle.

"True, but right now I cannot think of anything better than that. If I am to offer my soul so that you can be safe, then I would gladly do it."

"And what makes you think he would keep his end of the bargain?" asked Felia. "What makes you trust that we both could have our little happily-ever-after if we do what he demands? The Druchii are beings of limitless ambitions and greed. If they have a deer, they would immediately want an elephant. And once they have that elephant, another is what they wish to acquire. Nothing can ever sate them. Unless there is something in your relationship that goes beyond master and servant."

"I have my reasons to," said Levantia. "You would not understand. However, I am positive this is the only way for both of us." He did not want to say how he admired the Archon for the generosity he had been bestowed with. Proper medical treatment, improved living and working standards for himself and overseer comrades, a squad to lead, a chance to be with someone he loved, all of which he did not even dream of when he was first captured onto this ship. Furthermore, his credence was driven by the fact the two of the had much in common, more precisely how they each worshipped a figure and strived every day to become worthy in the eyes of the ones they were so fond of.

"Talking sense to you is like explaining rocket science to an ape," Felia sighed deeply. "You are no different from any of your infant race. How you could go on like this and still prosper while we could barely even cling to our existence is truly something I will never understand."

"I take that as you would no cooperate, then?" asked Levantia.

"Just kill me here and now," said Felia firmly. "Relieve me of my torment and I shall be eternally grateful. I may like you less than before, but compared to others you are still the most suitable candidate to end my pitiful existence. Do it quickly."

"Perhaps," said Levantia. "But I will give you a chance to change your mind. If the Archon gave me a second chance, then so shall I to you. But first, we need to clean you up. A clean body houses a clear mind. Can you walk?"

The Farseer remained silent and unmoving.

"We will need to get you something else to wear as well. You are not going around in these rags. May I have your permission?"

"Do whatever you must," Felia replied wearily.

"Are you sure?" Levantia asked. "You seemed rather fierce when I first tried to kiss you to save your life."

"I have no pride as an Eldar or as a woman left. You are my only hope, and now that hope in you has been extinguished. Just put me out of my misery."

"I promise I will end your misery," said Levantia.

With that, he began unclothing the immobile Farseer who showed no sign of resistance. After removing her tattered robe, he unbuttoned her bra, revealing her perky breasts. The underwear came out last and having removed all pieces of clothing from the Eldar, Levantia picked her up in his arms just like he had done so to Darelyn just the other day. Only this time, Felia was perfectly naked without anything to cover her lustrous body. She was filthy, covered in grime and blood, but that did not lessen her beauty if one were to look with more patience. Levantia resisted the urge to commit any foul play by reminding himself what his mission here was and the satisfaction he already had with Darelyn.

"That robe was a present from my father," said Felia as she was carried out of the chamber, her voice filled with sorrow. "He gave me on my birthday, right before he died."

"I am sorry to hear that," said Levantia.

"He was a Dire Avenger," Felia continued. "Just like you, he was foolish and cared for others more than himself. One day, he saw a wounded Space Marine surrounded by Orks. He had every reason to walk away, but he did not. The Space Marine was saved at the cost of his life. Now that I could no longer feel the Infinity Circuit, that robe was the only thing that served as a connection between him and me. And now… it's ruined."

Just like him? How? Levantia's face reddened at the comparison. How was he to compare to someone who would not hesitate to sacrifice his life to save another, let alone a person from a different race altogether? It was his selfishness that had led her into this, his fault. He did not deserve that kind of credit.

"What he did was very brave," said Levantia. "To pay the ultimate price for someone else is the greatest honour. Just as the Emperor protects the faithful, I am sure he would find his peace knowing he had not wasted his life. I never knew much about my father. He died when I was a toddler and he did not leave a lot behind, safe for a lot of work, for me to remember him."

Felia stared down sadly. "I was left with my mother who abused and manipulated me for her own good, the one I cannot ever love even if it was from her belly that I came to be. When she saw a chance to get rid of me, she took it without any remorse."

Seeing the hot tears pour from her eyes made Levantia's heart throb. He had always pitied her for her rejection by the Craftworld before, but now this was even more depressing. For all the hardship he had to experience in his childhood, for the very least he still carried fond memories of his mother who had always been caring and kind until the Necron murdered her. A family was a person's greatest treasure where their heart could be warmed even on the coldest day and in here they would always find a sense of belonging even when the world turned against them. To have that treasure spoiled by pride and lust and foul aspiration was an offence of the highest order.

"Do not worry," he said calmly, his coarse fingers brushing her golden hair softly. "Forget all of that. Just let it go. People who have harmed you before, pretend they never exist. I am here for you now."

"I do not want to be alone anymore," Felia whimpered. "Without you, I have no one left. No one has ever cared for me the way you did. Please, do not ever leave me."

"I will not."

The Farseer seized his collar aggressively. "Swear it. I have heard enough lies in life already."

Levantia found himself in a position similar to what he had been when he first awoke in the clinic and was greeted by Darelyn. Only this time, he was confident that Felia's feelings were genuine.

"I do," he assured.

With a deep breath, Felia once again let her body loose. A fainted, sad smile formed on her face.

Levantia brought the Eldar to the public bath and entered the room which he had reserved for himself. On his way, he came across several others, but they were all too busy to pry into someone else's business, a fact Levantia was grateful for.

Unlike on Imperial ships, bathing here was not a luxury, and all crewmen were allowed to shower up to five times a week, each with a limited amount of water. Using advanced technologies, the Dark Eldar collect sea water from oceans of worlds they passed by to replenish their water supply whenever needed. For a xenos species who liked to fight dirty, they sure lived their life clean (bodily, not mind or soul).

Setting the Farseer on the floor, Levantia grabbed a bucket and scooped water from a nearby cistern. He splashed over her, and she twitched as if electrified.

"That is cold," Felia gasped.

"You need to pay for it if you want hot water," said Levantia. "I have not received my salary yet, so just grin and bear it." That was a lie. He was coaxed by Bruno to give him his earning so far as a form of investment so that Bruno could participate in betting games, both legal and illegal. The big guy seemed to have been blessed by the Emperor or something and had accumulated a huge fortune out of them. Bruno refused to pay back the loan and interest until the deadline, leaving Levantia somewhat broke a the moment.

The way he was able to tell a lie with a straight face like that made Levantia somewhat nervous as he thought about it. His training as a Tempestus Scion had made honesty a virtue, but his stay on the Eternity of Torment had changed that. Previously, he lied to save his skin. Now, he lied whenever he wanted for any reason.

"You are the worst," the Eldar pouted. "That…came out of nowhere. At least the Druchii had the decency to warn me first."

"I am not a Druchii or whatever you call them," said Levantia as he scooped up another bucketful of water. "Do not tell me you are the kind of witch that melts."

Felia gave him an angry grunt but did not respond. Levantia grabbed a bottle of shampoo he managed to borrow from Darelyn and applied it to her hair before washing it. A thick blanket of foam covered Felia's top as though she was wearing a fluffy wig. The smell was intoxicating to the nose as much as the Eldar's naked form was to the mind, only Levantia was certain the former did contain some intoxicating substances in it. As much as he did not want to use something like that, common soldiers and even officers were distributed gel instead of shampoo to take care of (or destroy permanently so that no more damage could possibly be done) their hair.

"My father used to wash my hair for me when I was young," said Felia. "He always said I had the most beautiful hair in all the Craftworld. I remember him singing when we took our bath together as well. He had such sweet voice."

"My singing is bad enough to wake the dead," said Levantia. "So do not dream of it."

Felia giggled a bit at his comment. "Fair enough."

"You do have beautiful hair, though. I hope I am not doing it the wrong way. I am loathed to ravage such magnificence."

"No, you are going fine," said Felia, slightly blushing. This was the first time Levantia had seen her so encouraging. Perhaps the fond memory of her father had something to do with that. "

"Let's get the rest of your body cleaned up," said Levantia. He doused the Farseer in the shower gel also borrowed from Darelyn and rubbed her from head to toe. Touching her malnourished, nigh skinny frame gave Levantia a pang of guilt; without question, he would have to feed her something after this. Other than that, her skin was creamy and enticing to touch. It was softer than any material he had laid his hand on, white as the snow but warm like a boiled egg. Where Darelyn was the same, hers had the feeling of artificiality and excessive modification to achieve an end; Felia had none of that.

As Levantia moved to her feet, he noticed Felia's face turning red. This had happened before, and she did not like it one bit.

"Maybe I should do it myself," Felia coyly suggested. "I am feeling a bit better now."

Ignoring that, he continued scrubbing the soles of her feet. The Eldar placed a hand on her mouth to stop the laughter, but as the barrage went on, she reached her limit. She squirmed her hips and flexed her toes in a brave show of resistance, but all of that was for nought. And when the moment came where Levantia thrust his fingers between her frantic toes, she began laughing out loud uncontrollably.

"You are enjoying this, are you not?" he asked.

"No, I am not," Felia replied exasperatedly. "Not in a thousand years. Ahahaha. What is wrong with you? I have constantly been the subject of torturing for the past week, and now you desire to bear witness to my suffering as well?"

Levantia was a good liar now, but Felia still had a long way to go before she could conceivably make him believe that. "You have been depressed for so long. Now it is time for you to cheer up. Laughter is the best medicine, after all."

"Not like this. Hihihihi. What are you still doing? My feet are clean enough already."

"But they are not as pink as I would like yet."

"Noooooo."

When her bathing was done, Felia looked more gorgeous than Levantia thought possible. Her skin was fresh and radiant, the redness on her cheeks making her even more irresistible. If he were a block of ice right now, Levantia would no doubt have melted by what he was looking at. Here she was, tormented and broken by the cruellest people in the galaxy and beyond, and not only had her beauty persisted, but it had also managed to capture the heart of others as well. Such thing in a dark place like this was both an uplifting and deplorable sight.

As he touched her again, Levantia felt they were parts of a whole. Her pain brought him suffering, and her pleasure gave him comfort. He laughed when she felt joy and despaired when she lost hope. The Dark Eldar approved of threesome. Levantia was determined to make that happen.

Levantia wrapped the Farseer with a towel and headed to his personal quarter. Luckily, the Dark Eldar had everyone in different rooms with no sharing, allowing Levantia to enjoy the privacy that had been denied to him during his time as an overseer. Upon entering, he laid the Farseer on a bed and began to dress her, starting with the underwear.

"Wait, where did you get that?" asked Felia, looking suspiciously at the panties with dagger and claw motifs Levantia was holding.

"Darelyn lent it to me," he replied. "She said you could borrow anything you want."

"Do not even think about me wearing anything belonging to that hag," Felia said with a contemptuous tone.

"You prefer staying naked instead? It's still quite cold out there, and you are aware what kind of people living on this ship that you are showing your body to. Your old clothes are not in good shape anymore. This is what we have only right now."

"Fine," Felia conceded. "You are always right. Maybe I should stop talking and do whatever you say at this point. What a failure of a Farseer I turned out to be."

"You want me to put it on you?" Levantia suggested.

"I am not your infant," said Felia, agitated. "I can do it myself."

After getting dressed in Darelyn's underwear and covered by a simple white robe Levantia was able to acquire, Felia sat up on the bed with her hands clasped together on her knees. Her stomach was groaning, and when Levantia brought her bread and some fruit, she dug in without hesitation. She ate like a horse at first. Then she saw the smug look on Levantia's face, got embarrassed and slowed down, swallowing one mouthful with diligence before taking the next bite. Now she was eating too slowly.

Levantia made no comment on that. He was confident she could take care of herself, which she would have to eventually, especially considering the precarious position she was in at the hands of the Dark Eldar. Watching her finally caring about her health made Levantia's heart lightened; just less than an hour ago she was asking him to kill her (again).

"Felia, I am speaking this with utmost sincerity," Levantia began as the Farseer finished her meal. "Think of yourself and think of both of us. This galaxy is unforgiving, and it does not give us a lot of options. The Archon, I have seen his generosity, and I know for sure that he will forgive you if you can prove your worth."

"Even if he can give me a better life, I do not want to be any part of his murderous scheme to despoil this galaxy," Felia replied. "Everything he does is anathema to what I believe is good and admirable."

"There is no such thing as good or evil in this galaxy," Levantia told her. "It is only the way people view things and make their judgements. One day, perhaps things might change for the better around here and with our effort, that day might come sooner. Furthermore, an infiltrator is currently on board and carries the threat of annihilation to us all. You may not like Feharuln Snaketongue, but in order to survive we need to work together with him. That is the only way."

"I…understand," said Felia submissively. "I will think about it."

"Take your time," Levantia agreed. "Now, have some rest. You are going to need it."

* * *

The sound of knocking on the door woke up Levantia from his sleep. Lying next to him and clinging to his arm like a child hugging its pillow, Felia was still slumbering soundly, her face bearing a peaceful expression rather than one close to a painful death like before. Her breathing was calm. Levantia cursed whoever was disturbing them, but realised they might have a good reason to. Unwilling to let his duty to her shroud his duty to the Kabal, Levantia gently removed his arm so as not to jolt the Farseer from her sleep.

"I am coming," he said to the person outside.

Levantia fixed the blanket for Felia before getting dressed. Then, he opened the door and saw Yanarr standing outside.

"Is this a bad time?" he asked, seeing the woman on his squad leader's bed.

"Bad or not depends on what news you bring," Levantia said. "Any emergency needs to be dealt with as quickly as possible, even if one is not ready for it."

"Your girl," said Yanarr. He fanned his hand in front of his face to correct his statement. "I mean, your other girl. She is in trouble, big trouble. The guy who picked a fight with you. He really wants it. Now he is holding her hostage to pull you out."

"What are you talking about?" asked Levantia, alerted.

"Come with me and I will show you."

Glancing back at Felia one more time, Levantia felt the urge to be together with her. However, that would have to wait for another of his lovers had gotten herself into a deep end, and he would have to do something about it. Wasting no more time, Levantia picked up and followed.

* * *

The more Levantia knew the Dark Eldar, the more he found them predictable. It was like their culture had ceased to develop at some point and would just stay there until the end of time, or at least until Commorragh collapsed. Every major character on board this ship belonged to a category of generic villain that he had seen plenty on hologram shows. There was Feharuln the power-hungry tyrant, Crox the mad scientist, Darelyn the manipulative seductress, himself the opportunist who climbed to his rank despite his low background, Yanarr the unquestioning henchman, and now, most despicable of all, this guy the jealous boyfriend.

As he entered the arena, Levantia was somewhat shocked to see so many Dark Eldar gathered around as if they were expecting something exhilarating to happen here. Standing at one corner was the Darelyn's not-so-boyfriend next to a pole where, Levantia's heart skipped a beat as soon as he saw it, a battered and unconscious Darelyn was bound to. She was naked, and blood could be seen dripping from deep gashes across her body. All in all, she looked even more pathetic than Felia earlier.

The Trueborn taunted something, which Yanarr translated, "He said if you do not have the gut to face him in a murder duel, you would never see her again. For the sake of your sanity, I would leave the rest to your imagination."

"That is thoughtful of you, for a Dark Eldar," said Levantia.

"You need to be in the best of mind when you enter this kind of fight," the second-in-command replied. "Trust me, I have seen people losing duels after they lose themselves to the enemy taunts. And I know for sure that Mon'keigh are exceptionally easy to provoke."

"So I guess you do want me to beat him then?"

"Of course. It has been a while since a casket-born defeat a Trueborn in an official duel to the death. You are not casket-born, but you are in the same hierarchy as we are, so that counts. It is always a good sight seeing those arrogant noble bastards getting taught a lesson by those they deem inferior."

"Not because you like me?"

Yanarr thought for a second. "Yeah, that too. Maybe. I guess."

Levantia chuckled humourlessly. Turning his attention to the Trueborn that just issued a challenge to him, he felt anger overflowing every part of his body. The folks of the Shadow Talon were supposed to be the most civilised among the Dark Eldar, how could one of them go this far and do this to one of their own over such mundane reason? Darelyn might not be the most diligent soldier or noble around here, but to deserve this kind of fate was out of the question.

"Tell him that I accept," Levantia said confidently at last. He had been selfish to both women he adored. If his sacrifice would do anything to change that, then so be it.

When Archon Slavara banned street fight and made murdering without a vindictive cause illegal in the territories he controlled, murder duels became the way to go for people to get rid of anyone they did not like. While it meant that those less physically sound but more cunning would be at a disadvantage, the duels excluded no one from the lowest bottom city-dwellers to the high ranking officials and it was the was to settle many disputes.

The contest was simple: kill the opponent before he killed you. Both combatants were stripped down to their underwear and armed with nothing but a rusted knife. Seeing how poor the condition of the weapons he and his opponent were wielding, Levantia understood that a quick and clean finishing blow was all but impossible. Both fighters would bleed together and whoever bled out the second won, all the while their agony providing a source of entertainment as much as their martial prowess. Levantia was not very familiar with the concept of duelling. The only major Imperial faction that accepted death duels was unsurprisingly the Adeptus Astartes who were always willing to give up their lives for honour, whatever version of that, and not even they would have something like this.

For this one, Levantia feared the odds were stacked against him. His body was not in any condition to sustain minor injuries, meaning that any small cut from a rusted blade would do more harm to him than his opponent. If he could not bring this one to the bag soon enough, then it would be all over for him. On the other hand, the way the Trueborn was uncomfortable fighting an enemy looking as hideous as he was was somewhat encouraging. Any form of distraction helped, and Levantia needed all the advantages he could muster at this point.

A loud cheer came from the crowd as both fighters took their position and readied to go at each other. Levantia made a quick evaluation of the enemy he was facing. The Trueborns usually received proper military training, making them the more elite version of the Kaballite Warriors both by right and might. They were roughly the equivalent of the Imperial stormtroopers, mirroring even the presumptuousness they displayed and the distance they kept from more common troops. Enraged and jealous as he was, his opponent was still a true warrior within.

The Trueborn charged forward. As with all Eldar, he was fast. Levantia had a split second to ponder his response. Speed was his opponent's main strength, but pride and blind anger his shortcoming. He would use his momentum against him.

The blade came at Levantia's throat. It was swift and precise. Levantia blocked the blow in the nick of time. Had it been a second too late, he would have received massive damage that would put him far behind in this duel, though not necessarily kill him outright. The second blow was an upward thrust. Levantia evaded this one without too much problem. The Trueborn swung around for mid-air kick which Levantia had no choice but to block it with his arms. Pain engulfed where the blow connected, his corrupted flesh offering little protection to his bones. Levantia let out a moan which no doubt made the Trueborn feel good.

However, the time had come for a counter-attack for his opponent had overextended himself by doing so. Levantia brought his blade forward before his enemy could land properly on the ground. The first couple of attacks were expertly dodged, but wrong footing meant his opponent could not continue that. And sure enough, with a strong thrust, Levantia drove the blade into his opponent's heart. The only problem was, the knife was not sharp enough stopped halfway before inflicting the fatal blow.

Yelping in pain, the Trueborn leapt back and put a hand on his chest injury. He barked in his language as he examined the severity of his wound and concluded it was manageable. The crowd gave a rapturous response seeing that first blood had been drawn.

"He said he will murder your family, chop them into pieces and feed them to the Mandrakes," said Yanarr.

"Whatever happens to keep my sanity?" Levantia asked in astonishment.

"This is different," Yanarr explained. "Those words may be the last thing you ever heard from him. Would you not want to have them stuck in your mind like a man would hang his trophies of past victories on his wall so that you would recall them from time to time just for the satisfaction? You can gnaw on them and feel good about having put a lesser person to their place, in the most appropriate manner no less."

Satisfaction? In the threat to kill his family, dismember them and make them into Mandrakes food? To be perfectly honest, a month ago Levantia would be completely fine with that kind of stuff. Both his parents were dead, and he had no family in either the Astra Militarum or the overseers. But now….

No.

_No!_

"No," Levantia exclaimed.

"You had better win this one, Levantia," cried Bruno. "I bet a lot of money in this one. That's your money in there as well. I am not even going to have enough to give you a bona fide funeral should you lose."

"Fuck you," Levantia cursed.

The fight quickly resumed with the Trueborn going all out in an attempt to blunt his opposition with a rain of soft attacks. As much as Levantia hated to admit, his opponent's strategy was more sound. He had been foolish to go for a killing blow early, and that had failed him. With the kind of weapon they were using, it was better to inflict multiple small injuries instead of a few thick ones. Not only that would cripple the foe, but also less predictable and opened up fewer rooms for error.

Within the next minutes, Levantia was quickly put on the back foot as he desperately shielded himself from his opponent's rain of frenzied attacks. Not all blows were blocked or evaded, and he sustained numerous cuts all across his body, making him even more macabre-looking than before. Unable to turn his opponent's momentum against him, Levantia decided to wait until it wore off. As expected, after a while, in typical Dark Eldar fashion, the Trueborn grew tired and slower as most of his strength was spent at the early stage of the fight. At that point, Levantia knew the time had come for him to strike back and make his opponent regret not conserving his stamina.

Lashing out with the blade, Levantia retaliated with renewed vigour and zest. After a few weak blocks which sent him reeling back, the Trueborn chose to dodge instead. He was not totally successful, however, as Levantia was able to score a good number of hits on him and made him bleed as much as he did.

As the fight dragged on, both combatants grew weaker, and blows took longer to pull out. The pace slowed to a crawl as Levantia and the Trueborn could barely stand, let alone deliver the killing blow to one another. Despite the diminishing action, the crowd's restlessness had not declined. No longer were they deriving pleasure from watching a martial display, but now from the suffering of those in the rings. What a degenerate culture this was, Levantia thought.

Looking at each other, both knew they needed to end the fight swiftly, lest there be no victor at all. Though the damage Levantia caused to his opponent was significant, it was not crippling, unlike what he had received. His already broken body could not take any more of this and already he was feeling the numbness spreading. The Trueborn still looked as though he could go on for another round or two, but Levantia had little doubt if the next engagement did not conclude the duel, then his fatigue would. There was no way he could win this fight by out-stabbing his opponent with a knife like this. He needed a plan and fast.

And he had one. Its failure would be fatal. Its very success could be fatal. But there was no other way as far as he could think.

Two fighters went at each other again, their blades meeting each other in a shower of sparks. His best effort notwithstanding, Levantia was slowly but surely being pushed back, unable to retaliate and taking hits along the way. The impasse came to an end as a wrong move by Levantia led to an opening which the Trueborn was quick to exploit. Levantia howled in pain as his opponent registered his attempt to swing his blade and pre-empted with a swift strike which not only disarmed him but also sliced two fingers as well.

Overconfident that he had victory in the bag, the Trueborn immediately went for the killing blow by aiming the blade at Levantia's face. In doing so, however, he let his guard down and allowed Levantia to rush in and barrelled him to the ground. The two of them rolled and struggled on the floor, flailing like two fish out of the water. In a battle of speed the Dark Eldar were the undisputed victor, but in a battle of brute strength Levantia had the upper hand. With no way to escape his opponent's grip, the Trueborn began stabbing out with his knife. Taking a deep breath to suck in all the pain, Levantia shifted his position into strangling his foe from behind to prevent the Trueborn from hitting any vital spots.

Then, with every ounce of strength he had left, Levantia twisted and broke his opponent's neck. The Dark Eldar stopped twitching and stayed still, the last of his life sucked out from him.

Levantia could not feel the pain anymore, or hear the crowd cheering, or taste the blood in his mouth, or see the figure approaching him.

"I knew you could do it," a voice as sweet as honey whispered next to his ears.

"Darelyn," he managed. "How….What is the….?"

The Dark Eldar woman put a finger on his lips to stop him from wasting more energy unnecessarily in asking stupid questions. The truth was evident.

It was a hoax.

Again.

And he fell for it.

Again.

"You may not realise, but we Dark Eldar do think about our future generation," she said. "As a dying species, we, especially our women, are very picky when it comes to choosing our mating partners, for only the best materials could yield the offspring you desire. I am glad to inform you have passed the test."

"Why…. the act?" Levantia uttered.

Darelyn placed a kiss on his cheek and licked the blood from it. "You would not have fought if were it not to protect me," she replied. "That way, I can decide which one of you is suitable. To have both of your trying to kill each other for the woman you both want to possess until one could stand. Only the strongest, toughest and most reliable man deserves to be my husband. And do not worry. Crox will have you fixed up in no time. He has been quite impatient to get his hands on you, to say the least."

Levantia could say no more as he passed out, the image of the poor sod strapped to the rack when he was first summoned to the Haemonculus's laboratory still burning in his mind.

* * *

_**Author's note: Alright, another update. Things have been quite busy for me recently, and I have been unable to read and review stories as much as I want, but I will try to make up for that eventually. Don't worry my favourite authors. I will get to you.**_

**_With this chapter, Levantia and Felia are finally united. But will their union last for long? We will see._**

**_About my writing style, do not expect 100% serious and dark and gritty. It's juvenile in the purest form, and the people enjoying it are the same people who like Batman vs Superman: hardcore fans who are willing to abandon rationality. I find it OK, but critics have not been so kind with it. My stories will be dark, but the main goal of my writing is to make people entertain and enjoy. There will be comic relief and some out of place stuff to give a strong vibe of excitement. That is what I am trying to do._**

**_Can anyone find the reference to a classic novel in this chapter? It's not that difficult to spot if you read through everything._**


	17. Chapter 17: Rebirth

"NOOOOOOOO!" Levantia shouted as he jolted awake. His body was covered in sweat from the nightmare he just had. Perhaps being on a Dark Eldar ship had something to do with that, or perhaps he was just overloading himself with tension lately with both his duties as a Kaballite Sybarite and his relationship with two Eldar. In his dream, he was enjoying the time of his life surrounded by the people he loved, Felia, Darelyn, his human and Dark Eldar friends in the Kabal, even his Tempestus Scion comrades. Then, all of them vanished, taken away by a swarm of Tyranid tentacle hentai that appeared out of nowhere. He tried to protect them, only to be overwhelmed in the end.

But that was just a nightmare. Levantia knew he was better than to shout out like an infant. Maybe he was overworking after all. But no matter, he would set things straight and….

As he gained consciousness, the first thing Levantia saw, much to his horror, was a bunch of tentacles. They did not look like Tyranid, but still, they were tentacles, nasty things that could not only bind people into awkward positions but also explore parts of their bodies that should be personal.

"NOOOOOOOOO!" Levantia repeated. Frantically, he reached out for anything that could be used as a weapon to defend himself, only to find he had been strapped down to a bed and could not move a muscle.

"My my, what lovely response I am hearing," said the Haemonculus, his face barely visible under the dim light of the room they were in. The mechanical tentacles sprouting on his back approached Levantia with a sense of gleefulness, which only helped to intensify his already panicky state. "You are the forty-fifth person to say no when awakening from my surgery. Though I must admit, I did not expect anyone to say it twice in quick succession like that, nor the second scream to be twelve-point-five percent longer than the first. Even by Mon'keigh standards, I would say that is abnormal."

"Get those things away from me," Levantia quaked. The only thing abnormal around here was those abhorrent tentacles.

"These things, you say?" Crox seemed delighted at Levantia's fear as he moved in with his artificial limbs, touching the human ever so lightly. "They would not harm a fly, let alone a big, strong Mon'keigh like you. And show some respect, will you? When you were brought in, you were not in any recognisable state. I am the one who patched you up and make you like this. The least you could do is to give some gratitude. Does your mother not even taught you that?"

Levantia tried to calm down. He had been living with the Dark Eldar for a while now. He should have anticipated creepy things like this to happen. Still, given his last venture to the Haemonculus's lab did not end well for his mentality, getting used to it might take some time.

"This is the second time I have been hospitalised in the past few weeks," said Levantia condescendingly. "I am sorry for causing you so much trouble. I should really be careful about who I am messing with these days. However, I am afraid I have no money to pay you for this. The expense for the duel, as I heard, is not covered by the Kabal."

"No need to sweat it," Crox replied. "The payment has already been made. Your mate has been very considerate. You should have more faith in her." Levantia assumed he was talking about Darelyn, the one who was responsible for his predicament the first place. She manipulated him into fighting her not-so-boyfriend in order to choose the person to marry. "Anyway, I have something to show you. Take a good look."

With that, the Haemonculus released Levantia from his restraints and allowed him to sit up. He turned on more lights to allow the human to see better. The sight Levantia was greeted with was one he struggled to cope with.

Levantia could not recognise the person he was looking at. The young man in front of him stood bare-chested, his skin porcelain perfect without any mark that might have marred it. His brown hair was tidy and grown a bit spiky at the top. His features were noble and refined, his body-build balanced and vigorous. A pair of sapphires shone brightly like the only two stars on the dark sky where his eyes were. Levantia touched his face and the man reached out to his. He grabbed his left arm and the man did the same thing.

That man existed in the mirror.

But, he was also very real.

"So, what do you think?" asked the Haemonculus. "I almost got a bit carried away at some point, but she was there the whole time like a watchdog. How boring. So many techniques unused, so many equipment untouched, so many possibilities unrealised. She insisted that I bring you back as close to your original state as I could, which is no fun at all. She wanted you for all herself."

Levantia silently thanked Darelyn for this one. If getting carried away was regarded as fun by Crox, then he was glad that the Haemonculus ended up being disappointed with the result. Nevertheless, looking at himself in the mirror, Levantia felt a new breath of life surging through his not getting his way entirely, Crox had not simply fixed him up, he had made him even better than before. The face Levantia saw in the mirror looked just like what he used to be, only without the scars and fatigue, the skin smooth and healthy.

He pinched his arm which was now properly covered in skin, and it hurt, not as acute as after his incident with the spawning pool, but he still sensed it more than any normal human should. Perhaps the Haemonculus had enhanced his sensory perception as well. If so, he did not want his sense of smell to improve, because the the corridors of the Eternity of Torment were always permeated with dreadful stenches. Levantia wondered if this was his body being modified, or his everything else being moved into another body. The Dark Eldar's technology was as advanced as their users were twisted. Whichever the case, he should be grateful for this blessing and not question any further unnecessarily.

"I feel good," said Levantia after some musing. The fact he came up with that after so much thoughts put into made him a bit embarrassed. "Great, in fact. This is more than what I asked for. When I entered the Kabal, all I cared about was to help my friends, but now, looking at this, I…."

"Being humble again?" said the Haemonculus. "So Mon'keigh of you, acting like a self-belittling loser and brand us arrogance because we think about ourselves."

"My body is no longer the same," Levantia admitted. "Perhaps it is time I turned over a new leaf and live a life more for myself. Without a doubt, you have my sincerest gratitude, in addition to what my future-wife has already paid you."

"No need for that," said Crox. "I am always glad to have you back. You still owed me a good, solid, critique."

As he said so, the Haemonculus dropped the curtain behind him and revealed numerous preserved bodies crucified on a board in a macabre manner resembling the work of a psychotic serial killer from a series Levantia had seen on holo-television. Except in here, the killer was every bit real and he was standing right next to him. Levantia recognised the poor sod he encountered last time he had been here, thoroughly dead this time, much to his relief. Aside from him, there were a dozen other corpses belonging to many different races, humans, Orks, Eldar, Tyranids, Tau, Kroot, even alien species Levantia had never seen before. All of them wore a permanent expression of pain and suffering on their face in the last moment which now had become the only expression left they were capable of.

Levantia was neither afraid nor repulsed at the sight. The tentacle hentai had taken out all of the fear he had. But truthfully, as he no longer shamelessly denied, Levantia felt admiration towards the Dark Eldar for his appreciation of uncommon arts the same way he once did but ended up forsaking due to lack of time, courage and exemption from disciplinary punishment. It was as though he had found a soul mate who he could entrust his dark secrets to.

"Looks remarkable," Levantia said with a sneer. "But not perfect. You are a Dark Eldar, are you not? Is this what you have been doing in your free time when you are looking for ways to kill stress? Come on, if you want to impress me, show me your main project already."

"That is my main project," said the Haemonculus, shocked or expertly pretending to be shocked. "You are too cruel. After all my efforts and dedication, you could at least have given a soft applause. Where is the humble Mon'keigh I was just speaking to a few moments ago? What have you done to him, you monster?"

"I have not done anything," said Levantia plainly. As he learned, despite his position and pivotal role in keeping the Kabal running, Crox was not well-liked, a factor Levantia could only attribute to his erratic behaviours. He was used to disrespects from time to time at this point. "You were the one who killed the old Carlos Levantia when you reforged this body. I simply fill it with the soul this new body needs."

"Well said," Crox nodded, his tone changed now to a more excited one. "So, you think it is lousy?"

"It is not lousy by any means," said Levantia, examining the piece of art further. His eyes really could see better than before, which meant the Haemonculus had likely tempered with them as well. "But this is something I would expect from a bunch of humans coming together to fulfil their desire, rather than a master of the dark art at his finest."

The former Stormtrooper had been part of The Rejected, a hidden cult existing on the world where his Scholar Progenium was situated. Comprising of members from all walks of life even including some of the academic staff, the cult's goal was to depict the nature of the universe in the most despairing, most gruesome way imaginable so that anyone who saw their works would be best prepared once they got shipped out to warzones. Or at the very least, that was what it advertised to be. Levantia knew quite a few elites with morbid taste paid handsomely for the cult's arts.

Needless to say, the cult did not fare well with the officials and faced harsh sanctions from both the Ecclesiarchy who viewed it as blasphemy to the God Emperor and the Munitorum who were afraid it might distract soldiers from their real duty. Their works were banned from the academy with violations resulting in immediate expulsion. Thankfully, its members within the college were not tracked down, but their involvement lessened after measures were taken.

"You have seen arts like this made by humans?" asked Crox. "Were they made by the Forces of Chaos? It may be forbidden to meddle with the Ruinous Power, but that would be a small sacrifice if it does improve my arts."

Levantia shook his head. "I would rather damn myself before having anything to do with the Forces of Chaos. I used to be a member of an organisation that creates exotic pieces of arts, mostly ghastly ones out of belief that such works depict the outside universe more accurately than the bright and glorious version often painted by the church. Your work pretty much reminds me of the ones I made during that time. Which is sad because you are a league above what I could ever be."

"For now, I am," the Haemonculus giggled at the remark. "But who knows. You have shown great potentials so far. Perhaps one day, you might even exceed me." Levantia prayed to the Emperor that day would never come. "Anyway, I have to admit I am not quite satisfied with this one so far. However, now that you are here, we can complete it together. What do you say?"

The Haemonculus turned on more lights to reveal more prisoners in cages. There were all sorts of species there, but the most common were humans; the majority of the Orks ended up in the corpse hold instead. To Levantia's dismay, some of the captives were children. They looked just as haggard as the young boy he had been trying to feed before. He wondered if they were captured by the Dark Eldar or the offspring of already enslaved parents. Whichever the case, the sight of them made his heart ache as though it was pierced by a needle. Levantia might enjoy seeing Crox's works, but the process of making them still horrified him.

"I do not think now would be appropriate," said Levantia. "Thank you for patching me up, but I need to report back to my station immediately. I have been out for… how long exactly?"

"Five cycles," Crox replied.

"That long?" Levantia feinted being shocked by the news. He wanted no further part to play in this. Living and working alongside Dark Eldar did not make him one of them. He was still a human, still possessing a degree of sympathy and remorse. "Damn it, I should have relegated leadership to someone in my absence. I need to get to them now."

"Now, now. No need to rush things. They have been doing fine for five cycles. A couple of hours more will not make a difference. And worry not about being away from duty without permitted leave. You are helping me, after all."

"Felia has been in my room for five cycles," Levantia exclaimed. Guilt overtook him as he realised, once again, he had abandoned her. "I need to check on her."

"Your future wife told me to tell you she would take good care of her," said Crox. "I am sure she is going to be all right. Or at least, she would lose less than twenty-five percent of her body."

That sounded horrific. As far as Levantia recalled, Darelyn had always been jealous of his relationship with the Eldar Farseer and attempting to monopolise him for herself. Leaving Felia alone with her was like placing a piece of meat in front of a hungry tiger.

"I really need to…."

"What's the matter? Why the sudden change in the mood back to being selfless and noble again? You said the old Carlos Levantia, hope I am saying that name right, is dead and this is your new self."

As Crox's cold dark eyes stared at him with unhidden malice, Levantia found himself in a dilemma. Displeasing the Haemonculus was a very very bad idea. This man was a maniac who could be reasoned with but also highly volatile and unpredictable, so staying on his safe side was always preferred. On the other hand, where would his humanity be if he were to take part in this barbaric, blasphemous activity? The cult he used to follow used dead bodies and figurines exclusively, and even when Levantia tried to create his own works after he left the cult, he had only used materials taken from his xeno and heretic enemies.

The time he spent with Felia and the care he had for her reminded Levantia he was human in body and heart. Though he might not be human in body anymore, his heart must not falter.

In the end, Levantia chose to give in. It was not like he could get away from this laboratory even if he wanted.

"Fine, I will assist you," he conceded with a deep sigh. "But once it is finished, you have to let me go."

"A deal is a deal. Even an evil, sadistic, spooky scientist like me keeps his word."

"I will not touch any of the humans. It is not my thing."

"I understand. You can work on those Tyranids instead."

And so, awkwardly enough, Levantia spent the rest of the day hanging out with Crox.

* * *

Felia did not know which one was worse: the fact Levantia had been severely injured again as though the incident with the Tyranids was not enough, or the situation she was currently in right now, locked inside a room, unable to leave, her only source of sustenance provided by the very women she hated with her gut. Or perhaps the most painful thing to do was to decide which one hurt the most.

For some cycles now, she had been confined to Levantia's room after he left her to fight a duel without saying a word to her. A thousand curse upon Darelyn for getting him into that mess. Deprived of the only person she care about as well as her only guide, Felia was completely blind to the world she was in. She could not simply walk outside, for there were murderers and rapists roaming the corridors. And yet, to mock her suffering even further, the Dark Eldar Trueborn bitch had come every day bringing her food and water. Felia refused at first, but when Darelyn mentioned how Levantia would feel when he came back seeing her in a sorry state like before, she accepted, reluctantly. Thankfully, the druchii did not tarry and left as quickly as she arrived.

But as time passed, Felia became less and less thankful of Darelyn's briskness in her visits. Once again, she without company. Not even the Archon was bothering her anymore. Day in day out, that loneliness was taking its toll, leaving her physically and mentally depressed. Even when Slax had tortured her, at least she had someone to pay her any heed. Now, she was like a shadow without a body, a knife without its edge, a book with empty pages.

Before she knew it, Felia wanted to talk to Darelyn about something. Just anything. Yet, when the druchii continued to come and go, the Farseer never mustered the courage to tell her to stay.

Felia had nothing to do. She jumped on the bed. She rolled on the floor. She leant her legs against the wall. She imagined she was a child again and cuddled her pillows lovingly.

In the end, she cried like a baby. Just as her hope went up, despair hit her.

Today was a bit different, however. As she finished the meal Darelyn had brought her, Felia felt a strange dizziness overtaking her. Though she had been feeling unwell recently, this one was different, both in suddenness and magnitude. She fell on the floor, asleep.

Awakening, Felia found herself lying on bed as if someone had put her there and felt a strange feeling on her wrists and ankles. As she came to, she realised they were bound by ropes to the corners of the bed. Though terrified, Felia knew better than to try and break free; all her attempts so far at doing so had ended up in vain. Without the support of her psychic power, she was next to hopeless in this situation.

"You are finally up?" came a grating female voice. Felia looked around to see Darelyn sitting on the side of the bed right next to her. She was not dressed in armour anymore, but more casual clothing; and by "casual", she was wearing a black and purple dress that revealed way too much of her flesh. "Good. I was beginning to think I might have used poison instead of sleeping drug, or the type of sleeping drug that can only be cured by a true love kiss. Anyway, you look so cute when unconscious, don't you know?"

"What is the meaning of this?" Felia demanded, her face flushing red. "Why am I restrained? Untie me this instance."

"I would love to do that," answered Darelyn. "However, I cannot be in the company of a witch without her being neutralised first, less I expose my very soul to She-Who-Thirsts. That is Dark Eldar 101."

"You are not making any sense at all," Felia barked. "If you fear my psychic presence is tainting you, then what is the meaning of all these physical bondage? Have you become so panic you lost your marble?"

"So that if a daemon possesses you, I will have a better chance of killing you, of course," Darelyn explained plainly.

"My power is bound and hidden," grumbled Felia. "Even if it were not, I am not the kind of psyker that can easily infect others, for my mind is always shielded and so are the minds of those surrounding me. I suppose the so-called Dark Eldar 101 does not teach you how potent a Farseer can be. If the Path of the Seer is simply to invite daemons to our soul, why do we even tread it in the first place?"

"True," the Dark Eldar agreed, putting her hand on her chin. "But I still don't trust you. So, sorry."

The way she said it with a hearty, innocent smile made Felia more agitated. "Then just untie me and be gone from this place."

"That, I cannot do," replied Darelyn in a more serious tone. "You were crying, weren't you? Crying because you have no one to be with, crying because your whole life has become hell, crying because you feel really really really bad. Poor little Felia. Carlos is not there for you."

"Yes, I was crying," Felia shot back, tears once again flooding her eyes. "So what? What does a druchii like you even care?"

"Unlike the way you have been stereotypically viewing us, we do care a lot. As long as it concerns us."

"It is my personal business. You have no right to…."

"No, it is not," Darelyn interrupted. "You are part of Carlos's life now, and since he's going to be my husband soon, that makes you part of my life as well. I cannot let it become ruined like this."

"So why have you come in the first place?" Felia inquired venomously. "Are you here to drink in my despair so that you could be satisfied?"

"On the contrary," the Dark Eldar smirked. "I am here to cheer your up."

Felia was far from convinced. The Dark Eldar were a disgusting breed of people who thrived on torturing; what good could they do to someone else? The fact she was bound further solidified this claim. "How exactly does tying me to the bed make that happen?"

"That is just a…minor inconvenience," Darelyn insisted. "What I am about to give you is more than enough to make up for that."

Before Felia could response, Darelyn leant closer and licked the bounded Craftworlder's pointed ear with her tongue, eliciting a soft moan from the Farseer.

"Wh-what are you going to do to me?" asked a terrified Felia. Her breathing increased and her heart was pounding madly at the apprehension.

The Dark Eldar ignored what she said and continued running her wet hot tongue up and down Felia's sensitive ear. Felia gasped and turned her head to avoid the barrage, but the druchii simply went for the other ear instead. Felia then shook her head wildly, desperate to escape the slippery leech. In response, the Dark Eldar pinned down her head and renewed her assault with vigour.

"Stop," Felia implored wheezily. "This is wrong."

"Depending on which society we are talking about," replied Darelyn. She ceased the licking to allow the Farseer to catch some breath. "You are on our ship now. I don't think you have much say in what is right and what is wrong around here."

"Still, I… Ahhh." Felia was cut short as Darelyn buried her mouth into her neck, biting it ever so slightly like a vampire from the myth. Occasionally, the Dark Eldar would dig her sharp teeth a bit deeper into the flesh, taking delight at the Farseer's pained expression at trying her best not to react. A tiny trail of crimson blood ran down Felia's throat and Darelyn licked on it hungrily.

"We are going to live together soon," said Darelyn, suddenly pulling away again. "So you had better get used to this."

Felia never had the chance to present her counterargument. The druchii had already switched target to her creamy legs and caressed them with feathery touches, before reaching the feet.

"Such lovely feet you had," said Darelyn. "Levantia told me all about them. I want to see them for myself. It is even more gorgeous than I expected." She flickered her fingers along the length of the soles, causing Felia to giggle. "In fact, I want to taste them."

"No, wait." Felia's plea turned on deaf ears as the druchii pressed her face against her one of her struggling feet.

Without any more word, Darelyn inserted Felia's little toe into her mouth and sucked hard on it. She moved from one toe after another, putting each in her mouth and sucked greedily on them, running her hot tongue at their betweens as she did so. The big toe got the most attention as Darelyn chewed on it like a toddler playing with her new toy. She then repeated the process to the other foot as well. At this point, Felia had lost all sense of cohesion and started to giggle madly while moaning in pleasure, tears and drool flooding her beautiful face.

"Cut…it…out," said Felia wobbly, her body spasm against her own will and her mind in utter turmoil.

Darelyn withdrew from Felia's feet which were now covered in a thick layer of slime and dropped her head on the Farseer's stomach. "I did not know you had a limit, witch. If had known earlier, I would have brought some tools with me. By the way, that's my undergarment you are wearing."

"You can…have it back," Felia managed over her disoriented breathing and an overwhelming amount of water in her mouth. No matter how she tried to fight it, the tingling sensation did not go away, causing her toes to continue twitching blindly.

"Nah, it looks good on you," Darelyn beamed. "Besides, you don't intend on going commando, do you?"

Felia could not say a word. Her mouth was too dry from the drooling. Luckily, Darelyn noticed that and grabbed a tissue. After wiping the water covering it, she offered Felia a bottle to drink, which the Farseer, despite her reservation towards anything from a Dark Eldar, accepted without hesitation.

"Thank you," said Felia, finally regaining some of her composure.

"So, that was fun, wasn't it? Are you ready for more? I have this entire afternoon off. Let's go with your breast next, or how about your XXX?"

Felia had never felt so conflicted her entire life. If deciding which one was worse, Levantia's critical injury or her own loneliness, was aggravating enough, this was truly something her brain could not properly process. Even if her psychic power had come online, Felia doubted she would have made the right choice so easily. On one hand, this was everything she had considered despicable throughout her life, everything the Eldar of the Craftworld shunt from out of fear of breaking their bond from the Infinity Circuit and thus, endangering themselves to She-Who-Thirst. Not only that, this was borderline sexual harassment. There was no way this could be acceptable under any circumstance on the Craftworld.

And yet, she could not deny a darker part of her actually liked it. This was not the kind of torture performed with malice and the intent to break her will; deep down, the druchii was trying to help, even though the method was one Felia was unfamiliar with. She remembered her first meeting with Levantia where her unreasonable stubbornness nearly threw him off. She rejected him when he showed care and expressed disdain at his kindness, simply because she could not expect anything from a Mon'keigh back then, but she was proven wrong. Had it not been for his forgiveness, combined with the strength lent to him by his comrades, he might not have saved her from despair and it would have been all her fault. Now, she was met with another offer of the same nature.

She would not let it come to pass.

Darelyn had come to her out of good will. She had been feeding her while Levantia was gone, providing her comfortable clothes to wear, and now she had taken the endeavour to directly improve her mood.

The only thing Felia could do to repay was to come forward and admit it.

"Yes. But please be gentle," she replied softly.

"Very well then," the Dark Eldar said, her tone suddenly changed to sombre once more. "If you are willing to be honest with me, then I shall reveal a little secret of mine to you. However, I must have your word that you would never disclose this to anyone else, not even under pain of death, for it is very crucial. Can you handle that?"

Felia was taken aback. She had never seen Darelyn like this before. It was as though a completely different person from the jealous girlfriend was standing in front of her. Suddenly, Felia felt importance in her words and decided it would be best if she listened to them.

"By the eternal light of Lileath, I give you my promise."

"Good," Darelyn began. "So here is how it goes."

And so, Darelyn told Felia the secret she had been hiding from everyone, including Carlos Levantia himself.

The secret that would change everything.

It shocked Felia to realised how little she, anyone and even Levantia had known about Darelyn all along. This woman was not how she appeared to be. At all.

"Is this the truth?" Felia was not credulous at first, but the way Darelyn delivered the message was utterly serious. The Dark Eldar were not to be trusted so easily; they were a deceitful and backstabbing race. Nevertheless, there was a part in Felia that feared this all might have been set up by powers even she could not comprehend. "You are not pulling my hopes up so that you can drag me down, are you?"

"Upon my soul and the name of the Great Father, you have my words."

"But, if that is the case, then why did you not inform Levantia about this?"

Darelyn sighed deeply. "I want to. But I just can't bring myself to. He has been distant from me after his promotion. I thought we would get together, but he always puts duty ahead of everything else. I fear he might not be loyal to us."

"But he is the one who this chain of events will revolve around, is he not?" asked Felia. "Keeping it secret from him, are you sure that is the best thing to do?"

"Farseers like you should understand it better," Darelyn sneered. "You all like to intervene without anyone else noticing and even if you require any assistance, you provide them with nothing but riddles that would confuse them more."

"Then why me? Why do you think I am trustworthy?"

Darelyn shrugged, unable to answer that. "I followed my heart. That's it."

"If that is the case, then…" Before Felia could question further, Darelyn placed her index finger on the Farseer's lip, effectively shutting her up.

"Let's not over-think and just be witnesses to what is about to unfold," the Dark Eldar said. "Now where were we? Oh yeah, I think I would go for your breast next."

As Felia braced herself for the upcoming onslaught, a glimmer of doubt and suspicion started to shine within her heart. Would Levantia stay with her till the very end, or would he align himself with greater powers and go against her? So far, according to what Darelyn had told her, he had proven to be quite easy to manipulate. She did not want it to happen. Never never never to happen.

* * *

Weirdest. Day. EVER.

Levantia could not wait to see Felia as he quickly returned to his quarter after his session with Crox was over, his new body allowing him to run much faster than before. In the end, they did manage to create the masterpiece they both wanted, and they did so without any child abuse involved, which was a boon in Levantia's book. Both were very pleased that their efforts together did not go to waste and the sharing of experience was also helpful (to Crox only). However, as it began to dawn on Levantia, he was growing closer to the Haemonculus. And that meant it would be much more difficult to refuse the offer next time.

What a drag, he thought to himself.

No matter, as soon as he saw the faces of the people he loved and confirmed they were fine in his absence, everything was going to be all right.

With that, he opened the door to his room with the spare key he was carrying and went the inside. What he saw nearly brought tears to his eyes. Darelyn and Felia were on the same bed, sleeping together facing each other like two sisters. Their expressions were calm and peaceful, even if Felia seemed a bit red and sweaty. Other than that, five cycles had passed and the Farseer looked brimming with life. And for a moment, Levantia had doubted Darelyn. Now he knew how considerate she was in this relationship and how she was also willing to forgive Felia for everything. That alone made him desire her as his wife more than anything.

With a warm smile on his face, Levantia went out and closed the door. He would not disturb their precious moment together. For now, he would spend the night in Bruno's room. And by that, the big guy would be the one to sleep on the floor.

* * *

_**Author's note: A new update for you guys. With this chapter, two relationships are further delved into. The first is between Levantia and the Haemonculus. This one has been introduced right at the beginning of the story in chapter one but never touched again until now. The second is Felia and Darelyn who have been on ice with one another since chapter eight. It's all coming together now. With the conclusion to this arc coming, there can be no loose end.**_

_**At this point, you all can paint up what kind of person Levantia is, what he likes, what he values, what he hates, what he struggles to achieve and what his irrational fear is.**_

_**Levantia's bond with many other characters is inspired by the interaction between the main character and other NPCs in games following visual novel format, one of which, Danganronpa, I recently took interest at due to the airing of two anime. I must say, the games are pretty awesome with character designs and dialogues.**_

_**Some light yuri element in this chapter. I hope people are not too offended. It's the Dark Eldar we are talking about. It doesn't feel realistic without the bondage and stuff.**_


	18. Chapter 18: Despair cometh

Inside this new, shiny, good-smelling body and surrounded by the people he genuinely cared for, Levantia realised how much he had missed out his entire life. His childhood was drowned in poverty and ceaseless labour. The only light in there was his mother who was always there for him, but that too was extinguished when the Necrons awakened and decimated half the planet. After that, he thought his life would improve once he enrolled in Scholar Progenium, the prestigious academy for future generations of high-ranking Throne servants; he was proven wrong. While poverty was no longer a problem, ceaseless labour in the form of training, praying, mock combat, real combat and one-on-one Ork wrestling took up eighty percent of his time with the rest being spent on eating, sleeping and answering nature's call. Upon graduation, things only got worse as he was assigned to commanders who he never knew before and who considered him nothing but a vermin beneath their boots. And yet, for donkey's years, following orders like a machine was the only thing that came out of his mind.

There was no room to take a breath of fresh air in the choking intense environment that an Imperial Stormtrooper had to live in. There was no room for esteem or self-furtherance according to one's will when the code was clearly written and deviation could result in swift execution. Making friends was difficult and even then, the relationship must always be kept at a professional level, never to be allowed to be personal, or his combat readiness would suffer, supposedly. Thinking about it now, Levantia reckoned they were baseless ideas applied a few times successfully before becoming universal without any proper research taken. In fact, during his studies, a lot of evidence and accounts proved otherwise, but the stubborn Munitorum was so resistant to change that it was impossible to have them see through.

That was no more. The Dark Eldar, most sadistic race in this galaxy for many good reasons, offered him a chance, and he had taken it, albeit with some reluctance at first. After going through a Tyranid invasion as well as vicious internal strife, Levantia emerged a different person, more confident and hopeful and handsome than ever before.

For this, a celebration was called for. When Levantia first convinced the overseers to become Kaballite Warriors, they had all accepted it in silence. Back then, discontent and reservation were common feelings among them, which came as no surprise considering how much they had to give up as both loyal servants to the Emperor and as human beings in order to embrace their new position. Now, having the taste of finer things in life, they were more or less exuberant to see him reborn and rise in influence. That and the fact there was more money to spend after Bruno's insane betting luck won him a fortune.

There was no singing or dancing, no flashing lights or banners, no banquet of food or heroic speeches. The entire squad, humans and Dark Eldar, gathered for dinner, and that was something Yanarr had told him it was impossible. They ate the food ended up on their plate and drank whatever drinks they got their hands on, that alone was enough. Last time when there was a gathering like this, one nearly got killed and another nearly got executed by Levantia for killing something without his consent.

"Is there any chance he could fix me up as well?" asked Bruno. "I think my butt is slightly skewed to the right. Those Nids are the ones to blame, them and their mouths full of sharp teeth."

"I feel sorry for the Tyranid that did that," Levantia replied. "No one, not even the filthiest xenos, deserves that kind of fate. As for your request, just ask someone to kick you in it for a while and it might work. Besides, the Haemonculus is kind of busy right now. Just because I am close to him does not mean I like being that way nor I should take advantage of that."

"You bear the gift of Lileath," said Felia all of a sudden. "You should be grateful for that."

Unlike Darelyn who was going around chatting and flirting with others, Felia had resigned herself to Levantia's side and was leaning against him. Levantia thought bringing her to this party would lighten her up a bit, but so far she had been as gloomy as ever. She looked tired and dull, eyes staring emptily. One of her pale, delicate hands clung on to his shirt like a drowning person grabbing to their lifesaver, preventing Levantia from leaving the spot.

At first, Levantia thought she was having trouble familiarising herself with his new appearance; he changed from mundanely ordinary to utterly repulsive to wickedly gorgeous each time they met, after all. However, something was amidst and secrets involved, just like the first time they meet. Felia had been rather distant from him ever since and despite Darelyn's encouragement that the Farseer was going to be all right, Levantia could not help but worry.

Regardless, now was not the time for that. Today was a celebration. Tomorrow, the Archon had ordered the Farseer to help him figure out the identity and operation of the intruder who had been plaguing the ship for all too long. Felia accepted, on terms that Feharuln would leave her alone with Levantia and only asked for her divination when necessary (which meant no more Khymaera race betting).

"Who exactly?" asked Bruno, confused.

"Lileath," Felia explained in an almost sing-song voice. Her face showed no emotion and her eyes still hallow. "The goddess of the moon. She represents beauty, passion, and above all, fortune. Those rough hands you have gotten there, they bore her marks. I can see it."

"If she is an Eldar goddess, why has she chosen me the recipient of her blessing?"

Felia took a deep breath. "To question the motives of the gods is like milking from a rock, for their actions are fundamentally beyond the understanding of mere mortals, much less humans like you. Your race might be underdeveloped, but you are nothing compared to the Ogrul, a race notorious for their incapability of doing anything right, whether it is telling apart a kin from a boulder or deciding which distant to keep from a fire under the cold is best."

"That sounds a lot like you, Bruno," Levantia agreed.

"No, it is not," Bruno flustered.

"You are the one who tried wearing my underwear," said Levantia accusingly. "Even though their size is one-third of what can fit your fat ass."

"How am I supposed to know? They are of the same colour."

"Mine is black and white. Yours is white and black. How the fuck did you mess that up?"

"Humans. Predictable," Yanarr whispered.

Felia coughed to get both men's attention. Once they focused on her, she continued, "Left to their own device, the Ogruls would not have survived, and so Lileath took pity and granted them the propensity to produce dumb luck more than any other race. And with that, their inept species prospered, for a time, despite all odds."

"You said for a time, what happened to them?" Levantia asked, though the answer was already forming on his head. Ogrul was a race completely unknown to the Imperium and there might be two reasons for this. One, they were so minor and dwelled so far away from Imperial space. However, a more plausible explanation was…

Felia closed her eyes, her expression changed to sadness. "All gone now. Wiped off the face of this galaxy. They were one of the many races driven to extinction by the Necrons during their genocidal campaign aeons ago." A droplet of tears rolled on the Farseer's cheek. Levantia tightened his grip on the woman he loved. The Eldar felt all emotions much more intensely than humans, yet to feel such sorrow for something that had happened so very long ago was something he had not expected from her.

Or perhaps, she was saddened by something else, and this was the straw that broke the camel back. Felia had been quite depressed recently and had never fully recovered from the cruelty she suffered, despite the concord between her and the Archon. Levantia never found what this precursor was; every time he asked her, she did not give him any definite answer.

"Well, no metal bullcrap is going wipe me off the face of this galaxy," said Bruno jovially. His response elicited a cheer from the squad. The amount of awkwardness from this bastard was truly infinite, one of the reasons why Levantia would miss him a lot if he were not here anymore.

"Felia, are you sure you are all right?" Levantia asked for the twenty-fifth time. "You seem unwell. I have not seen you so down with me around. Please, if there is anything, you need to disclose to me so that we can solve it together."

Felia sniffed. "It is nothing. Really. I am just a bit sick." Levantia caught her eyes looking at Darelyn who returned a brisk but suspicious stare. He wondered what had been going on between the two of them, or why they had decided to keep it a secret from him. If anything, a part of him felt angered at this apparent betrayal. At this point, he was thoroughly fed up with secrecy. Darelyn had tricked him into doing things for her own benefits more than once; what could she be up to now?

"Are you certain?" Levantia asked worriedly.

"I am sorry," said Felia, fidgeting. "I am a terrible person. This is supposed to be a happy day for you, but I am just throwing a wet blanket into your face. My presence here will not bring any good; I should leave."

"It does not bother me at all," Levantia smiled warmly and put his hand on hers. "Simply being next to you is more than all the happiness this world could give me." This was hardly a celebration by human standards, or Dark Eldar standards for that matter, more like a coming together to get along. Even the ever-stern Tempestus Scions displayed more spirit during victory parades. The only person who showed any sign of excitement around here was, unsurprisingly, Darelyn. The Trueborn was coquetting with anyone with arm's reach, no matter they were humans or Dark Eldar, male or female or of any other sexual orientation.

"Everything is going to be fine," Levantia assured her. "As long as we are together."

"I do hope so," Felia replied with uncertainty in her voice.

* * *

Levantia woke up early the next day cycle and busied himself preparing Felia for the upcoming event where she would once again regain her full power and make revelations regarding the irksome intruder. Things had been quiet before and after the Tyranid invasion: no missing person unaccounted for, no visible signs of sabotage safe for perhaps the power generator, no sighting of any kind. All of these made the intruder more mysterious and unpredictable. Nothing was know so far regarding their identity nor motivation nor power, other than the very fact they existed on this ship.

Levantia did not like this at all. Fighting an unknown enemy always made him nervous. He would rather meet a Carnifex head on than chasing shadows in the dark. Back in the Alisha incident, his company was dispatched to eliminate a Chaos observation post located on the planet's moon. Once they got there, they found the place completely deserted, though evidence left behind indicated the warriors of Chaos had indeed been stationed there. Two days later, they came under attack by unknown assailants who seemed to be able to move through walls as though they were not even material. One after another disappeared without a trace, and yet without orders from their superior, the Scions had no choice but to stay in that cursed place. Despite years of training and indoctrination, panic and desperation kicked in. Ultimately, one of them stumbled upon a hidden passage way which was connected to a tunnel leading directly to a Necron tomb. The guardians in the form of Canoptek Wraith struck back, but in a direct confrontation with little cover to abuse their trickery, they stood no chance. The rest of the Necrons were still slumbering when their tomb was demolished. Though victory was achieved in the end, the cost was high and just thinking about what happened back then still gave Levantia the chill.

Whichever the case, Levantia trusted in Felia's divination. During the Tyranid invasion, she knew where to meet him and they got together in the end. Her visions were not always accurate, but with enough meditation and runes, Levantia was sure she could do it. He had absolute faith in her. Always.

And so when they were summoned to the Archon's tactical chamber, Levantia's heart was pounding with excitement. After today, the thorn in the back of the Kabal would be removed, with no small thanks to the Eldar Farseer who would have redeemed herself and offered a second chance. After today, her suffering would end thanks to the Archon's mercy.

Feharuln and his staff were waiting there when they arrived. Levantia threw his formal greeting to them, but none of them replied. The Archon merely nodded. From his experience from Feharuln, Levantia knew simple gestures from him could have more profound meanings than meets the eyes and so helped Felia prepare for her task. The process did not take long. The Dark Eldar removed the Farseer's limiter, a devious device implanted into the back of her head like a Frankenstein's nail, and returned the bag containing her runes. All the while, Levantia stood beside her throwing encouragement as best he could.

"Begin then," ordered the Archon.

"Coercion does not lead to results," said Felia apathetically. "If I am to be most productive, my mind needs to be clear, free of fear and doubts. This is not the first time I have told you this, is it?"

"And this is not the first time I have given you a chance," Feharuln countered. "Know your place here. On the Craftworld, you might be high and mighty, but on my ship, you follow what I say or outcomes worse than the maw of She-Who-Thirsts awaits. We have made a deal. So far, I am the one who has been keeping his words. Now it is your turn to repay in kind."

"Felia, please," Levantia begged. "Just do as he says. For both of us." His words seemed to have more influence on her, evidenced by the incertitude in her eyes as they rolled about between him and the Archon.

"Leave me be," said the Farseer as she began examining the runes given to her. While Levantia had little idea how Eldar psychic runes looked like, as Imperial counterparts used Tarot cards instead, he had expected them to be elaborate and radiant. What she pulled out of the bag looked like a bunch of random rocks. "I can do this better when I am not disturbed."

"I am afraid that would not be possible," the Archon shook his head. "After what happened last time, such privilege is beyond your grasp. You do this here and now. Identify who has been stalking us, why they are here, what are their strengths and weaknesses, and how we can defeat them. Once you have shown me the result, depending on the situation, I may live up to my words."

Felia looked desperate. She was sweating. Before Levantia could chime in, Felia spoke sadly, "I will then."

The Farseer took each rune and blew into them. The runes, in turn, took shape and became glowing symbols that floated the air around her like a swarm of insects. This was the first time Levantia had witnessed an Eldar Farseer at work. The Scholar Progenium when teaching about the Eldar and their ability to see the future had always been critical and discrediting, going as far as saying that the Eldar leaders made up their own vision out of paranoia and nothing more. For the same logic, he did not see Imperial Sanctioned Psykers reading from Tarot cards any more accurate, but of course, he knew better than to say something like that out loud.

The runes swirling around Felia moved at such speed Levantia could not see how reading them was possible, let alone deciphering some hidden message beneath. Felia herself entered a trance-like state, her body stiffened and her eyes glowing with brilliant yellow light. The air in the room suddenly got thicker. Levantia thought he could hear whispers. Some of the Dark Eldar clearly seemed concerned over being so close to an unrestrained psyker, but Archon Feharuln's towering presence overpowered all of that fear.

"I see dark clouds shrouding our strands of fate," Felia began saying. "Death has chosen us as its next plaything while the light of hope has all but abandoned this place. The scion of the dragon is here, and he will not stop until all of lives on boards this ship have been either extinguished or extracted."

"Who is he?" asked the Archon. At least Levantia now knew the intruder was male. "This scion of the dragon."

"He is the product of the most unlikely union, the traveller of uncharted paths, the scourger upon a hundred battlefields, and most importantly, he is the last person you would expect."

"Stop speaking in riddles," said the Archon impatiently. From what Levantia could see, even the Dark Eldar could not comprehend half of what Felia said, despite their own reputation as being cryptic and inexplicable. If an average Eldar could not make head or tail of what came out of a Farseer's mouth, then perhaps decoding these messages could be a professional among the Craftworlders. "Why is he here? What business does he have aboard my ship?"

"As I have said," Felia answered softly. "His purpose is simple. He is here to destroy you."

"You mentioned he wished to extract someone from this ship," said the Archon. "A traitor in our ranks? Who is it?"

Felia gulped. "That, I cannot see."

"Where is he then?"

"Hidden."

"Hidden where?"

"In the depth of this ship. Waiting. Silently. For the time to strike against us."

"Which compartment?"

"Somewhere no one had ever been for a long time, a place forgotten by all but the dead and forgotten as the ship changed hand." Even if that part was pretty obvious at this point, the confirmation still made Levantia's heart sink. The Eternity of Torment was an old ship and had increased in size significantly with each owner adding their own style of decoration and use of space into the mix. Many areas are, as a result, were out of order. Even at full strength, the Kabal of the Shadow Talon had rarely wandered into those places and instead chosen to seal them off.

Though the Tyranid threat dwelling in those places could be minimal, the intruder was on a whole new level. However, one thing Levantia was sure was that sending troops to scour the place would prove to be both fruitless and suicidal.

Feharuln let out a gasp in exasperation. Never before had Levantia seen him so tensed, so agitated, so human-like; not even the Tyranids could pull him down so hard. It was very unbecoming of the leader of a Dark Eldar Kabal to show such emotions, especially in front of others, even if they were faring with the revelations no better. As someone who had been plotting his whole life to be two steps ahead of his enemy, including those did not even existed, the Archon seemed quick to succumb to desperation once he realized no matter how he tried, the only thing he could see was his opponent's back.

"Tell me how we can stop him," he demanded.

Felia hesitated. "It is not possible. All the preparations are in place. We are too late to change our fate." Her words filled Levantia with despair. One man. Just one fucking man. How could one man stand against more than eight hundred Dark Eldar and still emerge victorious without breaking a sweat? No matter how skilled, prepared or match-up-favoured he was, the odds still seemed herculean, if not ridiculous. Not even Space Marine Chapter Masters or Chaos Daemon Princes were capable of such.

When he entered the chamber, he had hoped Felia's prediction to be nothing but the truth. Now, he wished they were false, and that the fickle immaterium had either deceived her, or that the intruder himself had tampered with her vision. Felia's prophecy last time led the Kabal into disaster because it was incorrect; now, its accuracy could very well spell its doom.

"You filthy witch," one of the Dark Eldar officers spat. "It seems we have been too lenient with you and are paying the price. We gave you an inch, and you went a mile. How could any of the information you supply us here be of any use, other than demoralising us?"

"You are not being helpful to us at all, Farseer," said the Archon, his cool voice hiding the rage boiling within his gut. "Surely there is something else in this. Tell me all about them. Suppose if your Craftworld were in danger and the threat is both overwhelming and inescapable, what would you do? You would go down to the very last details, would you not?"

"Yes," Felia said, her attentions to the runes again. "Wait. I see something. The moment is close, very close. Our fates will soon be decided. The first place to…." She suddenly stopped in mid-sentence. Her face paled. Eyes open in wide terror, her breathing turned to panicky, laborious gasps as though her lung was on the verge of exploding.

"Are you all right, Felia?" Levantia asked with great concern.

"The first place to be hit, is that what you are trying to say?" the Archon insinuated. "Where is it? When?"

Felia did not response. She appeared to be overtaken by something. Her body was not moving, even if the runes were showing no abnormality and still floated around her at a mercurial pace.

"Where is it?" Feharuln grunted, his composure gone at this point. Levantia turned to look at him and was terrified to see an entirely different person from what he knew so far. How could this be happening?

The Archon was generous and reasonable - he gave Levantia the chance to prove himself and rise in the rank.

The Archon was strong-willed and courageous - he stood up against countless Tyranids horror and emerged victorious.

The Archon was someone who Levantia related to - both pursued their own dreams inspired by someone they worshipped as a hero.

And now, all of them were gone. Levantia remembered how the Archon had reacted when one of his men tried to congratulate him after the last failed raid. He thought he would never have to see that person surface again. He was deadly wrong.

"My lord, you must calm down," Levantia implored. "The process is taking a drain on her. Perhaps it is more prudent if we leave her be for a while and come back once she has done deciphering the future."

"Where is it?" Feharuln pressed, ignoring Levantia's plea. "Tell me where it is."

And then it happened. One by one, the runes Felia used shattered into dust. Not too long, she was left in the middle of the chamber, a lone figure surrounded by nothing, many eyes staring at her in rage, disappointment and despair. "I do not know," she replied shakily.

For a moment, Levantia thought the Archon might resolve to violent on the spot. However, he simply took deep sighs to swallow his rage and said nothing. For several seconds that felt like an eternity, the gathered people stood, looking at each other, sharing their despair and confusion, not a single sound made. Levantia was dumbfounded at what just happened. Was he, Felia, the Archon and everyone on this ship really destined to die? Was this the price he had to pay for turning his back on the Emperor and renouncing what he once held dearly, for the sake of love and power and fortune?

And Felia's being unwell, was it because she knew this would fail? Did she expect the ritual to go nowhere from the start?

"I am…sorry," the Farseer's trembling voice broke the silence. "As you said, Archon, I am nothing but trash. I cannot do this."

"I thought as much," Feharuln replied darkly.

"My lord," Levantia chimed in quickly. "It is not her fault that this has come to us. The enemy out there must have been interfering with the ritual, just as he was responsible for the failure of our last raid and the Tyranid invasion. The more we are here placing the blame on one another, the more powerful he becomes. What we need is a cohesive and decisive action. My Lord, I am begging you to see this through."

Without warning, the Archon seized Levantia by the neck and lifted him up effortlessly, sharp claws digging into his throat causing it to bleed. "You are intelligent, loyal and stout. You have the qualities it takes to be a splendid warrior. But you squander your gifts and give in to your foolishness. Love has blinded you, and you have failed me."

"Then please, punish me, my lord," Levantia managed. "I am the only one to blame here. She has nothing to do with this."

The Archon threw Levantia across the chamber. All staff members present stood motionlessly, stupefied by their leader's lack of self-control.

"Get back to your station, Levantia," said the Archon.

Without a word, Levantia did as he said, sparing a last glance at Felia's miserable form. In retrospective, he should not have had so much faith into this, considering what had happened so far and the fact the Archon would still hold an unshakable grip on their lives, and he was known to be quite fickle sometimes. And yet, when he entered the chamber with Felia, he was still brimming with hope. He wanted to believe that Felia would succeed in her prediction and the Archon would keep his word.

But was it really hope, or was it manifestation of his desperation?

Was the Archon right, and he had been blinded by this love?

What to do now? What to do now? What to do now?

With questions ringing on his head and tears dripping from his new eyes, Levantia returned to his squad, thoroughly exhausted by the ordeal.

Felia was expecting much worse than what she was receiving. So far, the Dark Eldar had only locked her inside a dark room and nothing else. They had not even reinstall the limiter on her. However, knowing the druchii and their baleful reputation, she knew this was not going to end well for her.

She had seen the future. She knew the first place to be hit first by the intruder. Disclosing such information would have saved her life. However, she had also seen the consequences of letting the Archon know.

It must never be allowed to happen.

With the outcome of one decision overwriting another, Felia decided to bring this upon herself out of hope she would survive just long enough to see Levantia and Darelyn having their happy ending together that the so deserved. Both had been so kind and caring to her, and she had done absolutely nothing to repay, only causing more troubles for them. In this relationship, she was the third wheel. Darelyn was strong and determined. She would be the perfect type of woman for Levantia. Soon, both of them would earn their freedom from this choking place, but for Felia, this was the end of her path.

Strange gas entered the room. Felia created a psychic barrier to protect herself from it. Unfortunately, the door and walls were heavily fortified and not even her most powerful spell could put more of a dent in them. Hours passed, Felia grew weaker and weaker.

"I am sorry, Levantia," she muttered before lowering the barrier and accepted whatever fate the Dark Eldar had for her.

As she breathed in the gas, Felia started to hallucinate. Her vision changed, and she suddenly found herself on the Craftworld again. She saw younger self-presenting a painting to her mother who immediately rolled it and tossed into the trash. It took her days to complete that, and her mother did not even bother looking for more than a second. A sense of hatred took over Felia, making her want to maim and kill that wretched woman who also happened to be the one bringing her to this world. Even if that was against morality, against the law, against every foundation upon which the Eldar society was built upon, just the knowledge that justice had been served would satisfy her.

Felia realised what she was thinking to her dismay and tried to perish the thought. However, it was futile. This was not the kind of emotion she was capable of feeling, but the gas made it happen.

The scene changed to a boy and his mother living in a shack. They were humans. For a long time, Felia had imagined the humans to be savages who saw raising offspring a burden and abandoned their children to the military at the earliest convenience. But in here, there was the warmness between the mother and her son, a sense of togetherness Felia had not experienced ever since her father died. They were celebrating something, a cake in front of them. The son blew the candles on top of the cake, but one prove persistent and no matter how he tried, he could not extinguish it. Then, the mother joined in and together, they unlit the final candle. A cheer erupted from the two of them.

Felia's hatred for her mother soon gave way for jealousness at the sight she was seeing. Humans were nothing but barbarians. How could this brat be so loved by his mother? How could they be so poor and yet so happy? How could….

Her heart stopped when she recognised the boy as none other than a younger version of Levantia. The as, whatever it was, was taking its toll on Felia's spirit. No longer was there love and passion when she was greeted with the sight of Levantia, only envy and rage. That hypocrite. He had been playing with her feelings the whole time. He was only being nice to her because he himself had a happy childhood compared to her detestable one.

No, Felia tried to reason with herself. That was not who he was at all.

But all her senses disagree with that comment. The gas's effect was overwhelming. The more Felia resisted, the more she fell into despair at her situation, the more her emotions and thoughts were twisted against her will.

The scene changed once more, and Felia found herself on a Craftworld, though different from where she came from. The structures looked much less refined and the predominant colour theme here was white. Walking on the street was a couple chatting merrily, Levantia and Darelyn. A carrier floated next to them and inside it was their newborn child. The sight of them having a family together did not comfort Felia like before. Instead, it sent waves of burning choler searing through her body.

How dare they?

How was this fair?

She risked her life and soul so that they could live on, and they would never bother to think about her.

Growling like an animal, Felia smashed her head repeatedly to the floor in an unstoppable rage. Tears no longer flowed out of her parched eyes. Instead, they shone with determination to settle the score once and for all. It was all his fault. He was responsible for dragging her into this mess. If he had not come to her life, she would not have any hope, and so would never have to lose it to fall into even deeper despair.

She would kill him. She would make him pay. She would make him regret.

In the name of vengeance.

In the name of what was fair.

In the name of ultimate despair.

She would kill Carlos Levantia with her very hands.

* * *

_**Author's note: This chapter is mostly building up to the conclusion of this arc. Due to my schedule, I am unable to read and review as much as I like. So sorry to you, other Warhammer 40k authors. I will try to catch up with stories I am following but currently behind.**_

**_Having watched Danganronpa 3, I am a bit shocked. It is really rare that an anime would kill off the main character who is also in the main shipping relationship, but this one pulls it off. Twice. I have to give credit to whoever writing this for having the balls to go in that direction. The main female character in Despair Arc is killed off in a quite disturbing and painful manner. In the anime, that is what causes her classmates to lose their hope. I can see a lot of anime watchers did the same after watching it._**

**_Now, I do no understand why the Necron ever went to sleep in the first place. They wiped out hundreds, if not thousands, species created by the Old Ones, but for whatever reason thought they would lose to the Eldar who barely started their civilisation. In the old lore, because the C'tan ran out of power, they had to devour one another. To sustain themselves, they ordered the Necron to sleep so that when the galaxy is populous again, they will return to begin a new harvest. The Eldar, standing on the brink of extinction, took advantage of that to restore their civilisation. The new lore really makes no sense. Can anyone here explain to me?_**

_** There is one reference to Dota 2 in this chapter, can anyone spot it?**_


	19. Chapter 19: Never forget never forgive

The meeting with the Archon and his Hierarchy had left Levantia thoroughly devastated. Everything he tried so far had been a fool's errand. Everything he ever fought for to protect had been nothing but false promises. This was his last straw, and Felia's final chance, at having a relatively happy life on board a Dark Eldar ship, and it was all ruined now.

All he needed to do was believe in it, and everything would get better, that was what the White Hero had told him years ago. Levantia believed he could save Felia. He believed she could satisfy the Archon's demand. He believed there would be, no matter how unlikely, a future where they could be together. He believed...

...in nothing anymore.

There was truly no helping this one. No amount of persuasion nor exchange nor redemption could save Felia; she was at the Archon's mercy, and this did not look like an occasion where being merciful, even by Dark Eldar standards, would be apropos. He could not imagine what horrible fate awaited her. Just thinking about it made him sick to the bone.

Levantia returned to his room after the meeting instead of reporting to his unit as required. There were so many things to worry about and getting punished, no matter how severe, for the negligence of duty was not high on the list. He needed some time to recover from the shock, and he wanted that time alone; no longer did he convince himself there would be any solution at this point, and even if there were, it would not come from him. Darelyn visited him and attempted to make him feel better by requisitioning high-end ingredients to cook him a fancy dinner. Seeing how she tried brought tears to Levantia's eyes: this triangle relationship between him and two women was bound to fall apart at some point. With Darelyn, he scratched her back, and she scratched his, albeit she also tricked him into scratching other places he did not want to as well. With Felia, there was no denying the affair had been rather one-sided so far with him sheltering her and lending her a shoulder to lean on without any repayment. He protected her out of the belief it was the most human thing to do and if he could not lend any assistance to his needy kin, then an Eldar would suffice.

Perhaps that was his mistake all along. He did not need to do any of them to her, feeding her, comforting her, giving her bath, all of those things. His humanity was never at stake, or the loss of it would not have been so dramatic in the first place. The Dark Eldar were evil and foul, but that was what he learned from his perspective as a servant to the Holy Throne. Mankind, out of greed and anger and irrationality, had caused so much damage to other species and to themselves. What distinguished their crimes from those of the xenos and heretic were only in the eyes of the beholders, and now pondering the case from both a human and Dark Eldar perspective, Levantia found none. There was no point being in denial anymore. He never needed her in his life, and he could as well survive and move on without her.

Darelyn was his one and true love, and that was all that mattered to him now.

The next day, Levantia sat on the bench to himself as his men continued to fortify their position against the imminent attack. During the time he was gone, Yanarr had done a splendid job coercing the humans and Eldar to get along by selecting mixed groups to carry out duties as well as organising competitions that could involve both (mostly with the Dark Eldar having a clear advantage). Fighting no longer broke out, even Bruno showing some self-restraint, and morale was high despite the looming threat. When Levantia returned, there was bright elation from both groups, even if the Dark Eldar did not show in overtly. Yanarr told Levantia that the Dark Eldar in his platoon secretly admired him for his climbing through the ranks from a humble beginning, his relationship with the upper echelon and his defiance against the arrogant nobles.

All in all, things were all right for the time being, which was, all things considered, much better than what Levantia had expected. He decided to keep it that way by not telling them the truth regarding the vision disclosed by Felia about the inevitability of defeat.

Levantia took a deep sigh and lied down. He slept a lot yesterday, more than what was allowed, and now he was still exhausted despite not participating in the work. All of this was pointless anyway. He should be figuring out a way to escape this ship with Darelyn before the disaster struck. The Archon and his stubbornness could go to hell for all he bothered. There was no glory in waiting for the end to come and be helpless when it did.

"Are you okay?" asked Dividus, standing next to him. "You seem much less energetic than usual."

"None of your concern," Levantia replied curtly. This was NOT the way he usually talked at all, but somehow the recent events happening to Levantia had rendered him a different person altogether, a much more presumptuous and callous person.

"I did not see you go back with that Eldar girl," Dividus continued. "What happened? Did the Archon go against his promise or something?"

"It is not like that," said Levantia in a conceding tone. He knew he could not end this conversation with Dividus without listening to some message he was about to deliver. So far, what he said had been nothing but the truth. That he should not have been so kind to others in a place that was so hostile to sympathy. That the more he wished to accomplish and the higher his set his hope, the sharper his fall to despair would be. In one word, Dividus was right, and Levantia was wrong all along. "It was a fruitless act of hope anyway. She could not do what he asked, and so he took her away. But, I will not let this affect me for too long. I will move on, with or without her. If you are here to lecture me, then I am all ears."

"I am not here to lecture you," said Dividus silently. Levantia was taken aback by the way his sounded nervous. With a hidden past, relatively weak physique and cold demeanour, Dividus was the black sheep of the bunch, a hard rock not even Sveltanar had been able to squeeze any water out of. And now the person in front of Levantia was the complete opposite. "I am here to say I am sorry."

"For what?" asked Levantia, surprised.

"For disputing with you while I really should have not," Dividus avowed. "My experience has left me so pessimistic that I was unable to see the bright side of anything. You were right, and I was wrong all along. We cannot live without sympathy or hope. Surviving is not the same as living at all. We are still humans, and those are our basic behaviours. You showed us them. You showed us that there were more than just the blackness in their soul that made the Dark Eldar tick. You brought us together with the xenos, and now we are getting along with one another, something I never thought was possible."

Levantia did not know what to say. Just when he was admitting his mistake to Dividus, the man simply beat him to that. So far, he had been caring for others, but had he cared about what they felt towards him? Did they enjoy his leadership or had they been plotting to overthrow him? If this was the case, then he was more than just happy, even if it was too late at this point.

"I am flattered," he affirmed, not knowing what else to speak out.

"And, I guess I should also apologise for keeping this from you for so long," said Dividus. "The reason I was transferred to the overseers in the first place."

"You do not need to," Levantia insisted.

"I must," Dividus insisted. "I was with the lower-class slaves when I came to this ship. They captured me alongside the woman I loved. The conditions down there, as you know, are horrendous. At first, we thought as long as we had each other, we would be fine, or at least our death would be more decent. Day after day, however, while she clung on to such belief zealously, my resolve grew weaker until it finally snapped. I saw the overseers and the privileges they were entitled to. I became jealous. I became a monster. I wanted to get out of there so badly that I was prepared to do anything."

"That is not right," Levantia interjected. "I know for sure anyone down there would feel like that. That is only human instinct."

"But none of them could be as despicable as I am" Dividus went on. "My chance finally came one day. A group of slaves were planning on sabotaging the ship during their work shift. They had built some explosives out of what they had, and they intended to blow up the main reactor and deliver us all to the Emperor. I overheard what they said, and I told it to the Dark Eldar. The plan failed, and all conspirators were caught and suffered fates worse than death."

"You did the right thing," Levantia claimed. Even during the darkest and most desperate days as an overseer, Levantia had never thought blowing up the ship would be a good idea. One, he accepted the role as an overseer to save his skin, not to abuse the rights it gave to become a martyr. Two, all the people he had befriended with would die as well, and Sveltanar himself was adamant about not doing anything so individualistically. Three, there was absolutely no way in hell the Dark Eldar would not find out. They were not stupid. "If the ship had been destroyed, we would have all died. Nevertheless, even if you had not reported, the Dark Eldar would definitely not have been fooled. Those people's fates were sealed either way. You took your chance."

"I also did it for another reason. In exchange for a better condition for both myself and that woman. Unfortunately, she did not like it, not one bit. Too ashamed to have fallen in love with a xeno-collaborator like me, she hung herself. I only sold out my own kind because I want to be with her, but in doing so, I lost the one I love."

Dividus did nothing wrong; fate simply had sneered upon him, just as it did to him. Would he be willing to risk everything to ensure he and his lovers would get a happy ending? Were his actions so far knitting the bonds between him and Felia and Darelyn, or were they slowly and quietly tearing them apart?

"I tried to forget her," Dividus continued. "But in the end, it only made me more miserable."

"How so?" asked Levantia.

"Because as much as I hate her final decision, the time I spent with her is still a wonderful thing. And that is something I would rather not let go. What matters in a relationship is not the ending, but the whole journey."

Levantia felt silent. Up to this point, he was planning to let it go and move on without Felia. But would it ever solve the problem at all? Was forgetting the same as being in denial that something had never existed?

He remembered her stubbornness nearly driving him insane, but thinking about it now he found it kinda cute; any Eldar who found themselves alone and surrounded by humans would act the same. He remembered the food they shared and the battles they fought together. But most of all, he remembered her laughter. Even if it had been so far mostly induced by exploitation of her ticklishness, Levantia was willing to give anything just to hear her laugh again.

"I see," said Levantia. "I just had a thought. Maybe it was a mistake to even think about it in the first place."

Dividus looked at Levantia with tearing eyes, "I look upon you now and I still could not help but envy you. You have everything I once desired, power and love, strength and beauty. I am sorry for being such horrible being. This is all my fault."

"It is not," Levantia riposted. Before he managed to say anything more, a company of Dark Eldar approached them with murderous intent. One of them stepped towards Dividus and smacked him with the butt of the rifle, pinning him to the floor. The Dark Eldar trained their weapons at the humans and Yanarr translated what their commander said, telling the men to lower their arms in return. The Dark Eldar in Levantia's platoon were also alerted and aimed their firearms at the encroaching units. Yanarr hollered and shouted, doing his best to prevent any bloodshed from taking place.

"What is the meaning of this?" Levantia demanded. The sight of his men being bullied and threatened unleashed a rage inside him.

"They say you should come with them," answered Yanarr. The humans were disarmed and rounded up by the newly arrived company, their xeno comrades looking confused as if they were on edge between letting it slip like always and doing something to change it for the first time. "The Archon is expecting you. The others stay here. They will be participating in the upcoming even from this vantage point."

"What it is about?" Levantia snapped.

"They are not telling. If you do not go now, there would be severe consequences. I would recommend you do as they say."

With an exasperated groan, Levantia did as ordered and followed a squad of Dark Eldar as they led him away from his men. With deep regret, Levantia realised he had failed the Archon, and that meant there was no way he would ever let him off so slightly. This was his fate and his fate alone. The least he could do right now was to make sure his men would not be implicated.

* * *

Levantia was led by the escorts to the Wyches' arena at the far east of the ship. Normally, this part would be off-limited to most members of the Kabal safe for those with an affiliation to the cult and unauthorised access would result in the victim becoming part of the grisly shows taking place within the arena. The Wyches were depraved warrior-priestesses dedicated to the art of combat and murder. They performed incredibly violent displays not merely for the sake of satisfying their thirst for battle, but literally to sustain their soul as well as other their audience who derived pleasure and rejuvenation from seeing such performance. Proficient and bloodthirsty, Wyches were prized by the Kabal and enjoyed the patronage of the Archon himself, much to the disdain of the Kaballite Warriors who also received formal training.

The arena served as not only the Wyches' playground and training field, but also a symbol of their power and status. Though contracted and paid by the Kabal, the Wyches were not technically part of it and they enjoyed a level of independence in their own little kingdom. As a result, the gladiatrixes did not simply welcome anyone into their sacrosanct unless they carried certain businesses that would benefit them, or just happened to be filthy rich to pay the high fees. Nobles and not even Archons were allowed to get in for free. Levantia had neither of those things. If the Archon had gone so far as to violating his agreement with the Wych cult, then it must be something solemn.

As he walked along the bloody corridors displaying trophies taken in a more organised and less haphazard manner than the rest of the ship, he noticed the gladiatrix's predatory eyes gazing at him - the same eyes Darelyn sometimes looked him with. He eventually was led to a room where a naked dead body was placed on a chair that looked more like a throne sitting at the centre. The body was connected to some strange devices via cables which uncannily resembled the Emperor on the Golden Throne of Terra, even if such comparison would be heretical in the extreme. As Levantia entered, the dead body came back to life, its face twisted and contorted until it resembled someone familiar.

"My Archon," Levantia began.

"You do know why you are here," said the Archon a-matter-of-fact. This body possession technique explained how the Archon had been able to keep watch over his men while still attending entertainment without having to move from one place to another much.

"Yes, my lord," Levantia acknowledged, trying to keep his composure. If there was one thing the Archon despised in his lieutenants, that was the inability to speak in front of him without nearly pissing their pants. "I have failed you. And this is my punishment."

"Very good," Feharuln replied affirmatively. The body he was possessing stood up from the throne and examined Levantia's body with his bare hand, touching every part of his body including private ones, all the while Levantia stood as still as a statue. "It looks like we are on the same page, so I will cut the long and drawn out speech I have prepared to demoralise you. Do you know what kind of punishment it is?"

"No, my lord."

"Very simple," the Archon chuckled. "Go to the arena. Fight your opponent in there. The victory condition is the death of the opposition. If you win, then you shall have the right to earn my forgiveness. Everything that happened the day before will be nothing more than a sad memory, one that we should never remind yourselves. And if you lose, then obviously you know what would happen."

"Pardon me for asking, but what would happen to my men?"

"They share the same fate as you."

"And the Farseer? What about her?"

"You will find out soon enough."

"Is that all, my lord?" asked Levantia incredulously.

"That it is," Feharuln confirmed.

Levantia was suspicious of the Archon's motive. The condition seemed surprisingly uncomplicated, which was almost unheard of when it came to the Dark Eldar. Layers on top of layers of planning, that was what the xenos were known for, one of the reasons why their civilisation had survived against all odds for fifteen millennia. Regarding this duel, something was definitely not normal.

Would the fight be so impossible that this was technically an execution in disguise and all of this was meant to make him unrealistically raise his hope?

Would he enter the fight and come out someone else entirely?

Would the Archon even live up to his promises if he were to be the victor?

What did Feharuln mean when he said Levantia would find out the fate of Felia soon?

So many questions Levantia had to suppress himself from asking lest he provoked the Archon even further as he was led into the arena. Normally, an announcer would shout on top of their lung as the combatant enter the field, but today the stadium was as silent as the gravestone. Bodies of Dark Eldar and Tyranids still littered the place emitting a foul odour; the xenos apparently lacked the decency to clean this place up regularly. All manners of exotic weapons laid scattered on the ground ready to be picked up by anyone. The only all-female military organisation within the Imperium Levantia had ever heard of was the Adeptus Sororitas, and they would be gravely offended by just a tiny speckle of dust in their chapel-barrack.

Levantia tried his best to clear his mind. The following fight would decide the destiny of not only him but his men as well. Though putting down another ally was deplorable, especially in this dire situation where a threat loomed, Levantia would fight with as much vigour as he did when he thought he was saving Darelyn from her not-so-boyfriend. For his men and for himself, he would fight till the last breath, no quarters given.

All of his resolve immediately evaporated when he saw his opponent emerge from the other side of the colosseum.

"So we meet again, Levantia," said the Eldar Farseer with a sneer so uncharacteristic of her. She was dressed in formal Dark Eldar robe, complete with black gloves and matching boots. "Are you astonished to see me here? Or have you completely forgotten about me?"

"Felia, what is the meaning of this?" Levantia stammered as a fresh wave of guilt hit him in the gut. He thought he could leave her behind and move on. Apparently, he was wrong. "Why are you here?"

"Is it not as clear as crystal already?" she snickered. "I am your opponent, of course. Kill me, and you get a free pass. But I do not believe you have either the strength nor the gut to do so, you damned hypocrite."

"What have they done to you?" asked Levantia in terror.

"Nothing _much_," Felia replied. "I saw it in my vision. The past. Your happy childhood. Your mother loving you more than anything." Her voice became more and more agitated as she spoke. "You are just a worthless human, how were you blessed with such? I am an Eldar. My species care for their offspring more than the humans ever do. Then why did fate lavish you while my mother hates me so?"

"What you are saying is nonsense," Levantia could not refrain from his outburst. His memory with his mother was the one thing he cherished the most, the one thing that saved his childhood from being a total shit-hole and the one thing that inspired him to protect and care for others. There was no way he would let anyone badmouth about it, not even the woman he loved. "I demand that you take your words back right now."

"I will take them back," Felia retorted, "when you stand over my dead body." With that, crackling energy surged along her arm and shot towards Levantia. If this were the sluggish old body, Levantia would surely have been vaporised by the sudden attack, but the new vessel the Haemonculus made him responded before his still human mind could fully register the threat. He ducked deftly to the side as the blast seared through the air where he once stood and blew a couple of Tyranid bodies to chutney.

"It does not have to be like this," Levantia hollered. "Your envy is baseless. Killing me will not make your mother love you."

"It does not matter," Felia screeched back madly. "Your death satisfies me, and that is what I desire more than anything right now."

Another energy blast came from Felia. This time, Levantia could barely avoid it. If this kept on going, he would not be able to continue dodging for long. Taking a more offensive stance, Levantia shouldered his weapon, loaded tranquillizer, aimed for her legs and fired. The monocular darts were stopped by an invisible force before they could reach their target.

"I used to admire you for your kindness," Felia went on as if talking to herself, "rely on you for your strength and desire you for the personal traits you possess. That was my mistake. You never cared about me, do you? You were just helping me out because it made you feel better, not bothering how I feel about it. When I need you most is also when you want to be elsewhere pursuing other agenda that would benefit you more than being with me."

Levantia was taken aback by the statement. Perhaps she was right. He was too obsessed with keeping his humanity that he had not been paying much attention to what consequence his actions would bring to her. Perhaps it was his fault all along that made them end up like this.

"Even if that is the case," Levantia declaimed. "Is that enough reason that we should fight one another until one of us is dead? I am sorry I could not be there when you need. I was a terrible person to you. You showed care for me when I was wounded, yet I did not deserve any of it. But think about this for a moment. Why can you not let go of the past and move on? Why drag a dead corpse out of the grave to mutilate and defile it? Are you not being a little childish here?"

"Childish?" Felia echoed with vehemence as if it was an insult. "How dare you call me childish. I have lived for hundreds of years, longer than you ever could."

"But you have not seen the universe as much as I am," Levantia countered. "I can only guess this is your first trip outside the Craftworld, seeing how you are so unfamiliar with showing manners in front of us humans, or even the Dark Eldar for that matter."

Felia seemed to brim with anger at the comment, unable to refute. "Fine," she said at last. "There is another reason. My vision did not show me only the past, but the future as well. A future where you would live happily forever after with that treacherous whore and forget everything about me. Neither of you would even remember me for who I am, nor the sacrifice I made to save you both. I know you hate me because I mess you up in front of your almighty Archon. Is that not right?"

Again, Levantia was shocked, for that had been his intention as he left the meeting. It was a callous move from a desperate man, one who was willing to give up everything knowing his life would soon end anyway. However, his conversation with Dividus changed all of that.

"I do hate you for messing up," he admitted. "But that does not alter the fact we both have gotten cheerful times together. The end of the journey does not matter as much as how we get to it. And believe it when I say it has been quite an enjoyable ride for me with you along."

"Cease your prevarication," Felia grumbled. "I have been nothing but a sack of rock on your back ever since the day we met, a parasite that has been sucking your blood all along. What is it about me that could possibly bring you joy? What is it about me worth remembering?"

"That you are unique," Levantia replied calmly. "And that the sight of you, for reasons I cannot explain, have always brought a smile on me. I do not love you because I expect you to pay me back or become my part of my possession. I do so because…it is what my heart tells me. And even now, after all we have been through, I still believe in it. It is irrational, maybe insane, but I believe it is what makes it so beautiful. I still love you from the bottom of my soul."

Felia was dumbfounded. She tried to speak something but the words got stuck in her mouth.

"Lies, lies, lies," she muttered.

"You know they are not," said Levantia calmly. "You are a psyker. My mind is all yours."

"But... But I..."

"Please, Felia," Levantia encouraged. "We do not have to do this. Let us get out of here together. We will find a way."

"I…I cannot," Felia stuttered. At this point, a seizure overcame her and sent her into a hysteria state. She grabbed her head with both hands and began to scream. As Levantia rushed to her aid, Felia stopped him, "Get away. I… ARGHHHHH!"

A psychic explosion erupted from the Farseer, throwing Levantia on his back. As it subsided, Felia stood straight once more, her face full of grim determination. "No more talking. I will take your life right now."

This was NOT her at all. The Dark Eldar must have tempered with her mind somehow. Darelyn once mentioned chemical warfare methods employed by the Kabal of the Shadow Talon to force enemy combatants to turn upon one another out of a variety of reasons ranging from altering memory to inducing paranoia to poison with the cure being the blood from a beating heart of someone else. There was no doubt that kind of warfare was being unleashed right here right now. The question was, how could he stop it? How could he bring Felia back when she was so hell-bent on killing him?

"Felia, snap out of it," Levantia begged. "You are being controlled. You need to wake up." With the knowledge of what the Archon did to Felia, Levantia felt his anger towards him rising to the level exceeding before the Tyranid invasion. As it turned out, the Feharuln he once venerated was a madman under the disguise of an enlightened being, and in his desperation, he had removed the cloak. Levantia had heard about Aspect Warriors becoming Exarchs when they lost themselves in the path of war; this was what happened to Dark Eldar Archons when they lost themselves in the path of power-gathering: they became virulent lunatics.

"I will wake up from this bloody dream once you lay slain," Felia proclaimed as she launched a psychic projectile at Levantia.

Levantia reacted swiftly to the threat and ducked behind the corpse of a Tyranid Warrior. The body was reduced to dust in an instant. Felia reached out her hands and the weapons laid on the ground suddenly levitated as if held by an invisible force, their sharp tips pointing at Levantia. Though he had always known Felia was a force to be reckoned with, even more so than most Eldar Farseers out there, Levantia had never seen the full extent of her power. During the battle against the Tyranids, she was holding back her power to shield her mind from the Shadow of the Warp. Now, with no restraint of any kind existing on her, Levantia wondered how long he could possibly last in the arena.

"Die now!" With a screech, Felia threw her hands in front of her, hurling the items she had been lifting using her psychic might.

Levantia evaded the rain of sharp objects by darting between bodies as they got hacked to pieces. He also picked up a halberd-like weapon and blocked incoming attacks where necessary. The new body was working its miracle, lending him both the speed and heightened senses he needed to survive this onslaught. But still, that was not enough, and despite his inhuman agility, Levantia soon found himself without any cover to duck into. Returning fire was achieving another, all shots blocked by some sort of psychic barrier Felia had erected around her. As a testament to Felia's immense power at its full release, all large Tyranid bodies had been lacerated to bits and chunks at this point. Luckily for him, Felia had also run out of weapons to throw at him.

Knowing that it would only be a matter of time before she cornered him, Levantia decided it best to be on the offensive. As shooting at her was proven to be useless now, the only option left was melee. Howling madly, Felia conjured another psychic projectile and threw it at him. Tossing his splinter rifle aside, Levantia grabbed the body of a fallen Wych only to find it astonishingly light. Whether his strength had increased or the Dark Eldar were simply so light the concern of another time, he quickly tossed it towards Felia. The body impacted the energy bolt and imploded like a sack of vegetable, showering the arena floor with blood and organs. Some of them splattered on Felia who squalled in disgust. Taking advantage of the distraction, Levantia surged forward and closed the distant quickly.

Felia shot out lightning from her palms, but the attack was blocked by the halberd. Levantia dropped the head of his weapon to the ground to let the electricity dispersed. Though his hands still felt the shock inside their gloves, the damage was nowhere as devastating as it could have been had he been hit squarely or the halberd been a better conduit. The weapon was masterful crafted to withstand both physical and psychic attack, a worthy item in the Dark Eldar armoury. Within seconds, he was within strike distant from the frantic Farseer.

"Why do you not perish already?" Felia's guttural scream was ignored as Levantia swung around his halberd and smacked her midsection with the handle. Coughing and panting, the Farseer fell to the floor. Her eyes were wide open. Levantia could see drool escaping her mouth as though the pain was registered in her mind as some sort of sexual stimulant. What kind of degenerate drug had she been subjected to?

"Felia, stop," Levantia cried. "I do not want to do this. Let us go and carve our own future together. It is time we freed ourselves from the collar the Archon puts around our neck."

Suddenly, the whole arena started to shake, causing Levantia to nearly lose his footing. Alarm bells blared out. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of explosions and cries could be heard. Was this the attack from the intruder Felia had prophecised? How were his men faring with this? What about the Archon, what about Darelyn, what about Crox?

"Then promise me," Felia moaned, apparently unaffected by the situation. "Promise it is only you and me. Promise you will abandon that Druchii seductive bitch."

With a deep sigh, Levantia replied sternly, "I am afraid I cannot."

"Then there is only one way this is going to end." As Felia finished her sentence, a cacophonous shriek erupted from her mouth. Dinned, Levantia took several steps back covering his ears in pain. He felt his entire body vibrating violently and his very mind being torn apart just by listening to that haven-piercing clamour.

"Felia, no," he managed as his visions began to blur. Blood oozed from his nose and ears. There was no escape from this. From his experience fighting the Noise Marines on Kampftar, he reckoned sound attacks ignored cover and armour alike. "Ple-ase. Argh!"

Levantia fell to the ground clutching his head as agony overtook him. It was not just vision now, but all his senses had all but left him. To be murder by the one he loved out of love itself. Perhaps that was a good way to go.

And then, it all stopped. The psychic shrieking had ceased all of a sudden. Levantia could dimly make out a pained cry from someone other than himself just before that, but he was not sure. As he recovered, he registered the faint sound of someone calling for him. The rushing footsteps heading towards became more pronounced and within the moment, Levantia found himself in the embrace of Darelyn.

"Levantia, are you all right?" the Dark Eldar ask worriedly. "Speak to me."

"Just dazed and all," Levantia replied fuzzily. "What are you doing here? The attack has already begun. You should be trying to repel it, not helping me. The Archon is going to be furious that you have abandoned duty…"

"The Archon can go to She-Who-Thirsts for all I care about," Darelyn interrupted. "I know this is an unexpected development, but you have got to listen to me."

"What are you talking about?"

A high-pitch warcry shot out from the auditorium. Though his vision was still foggy, Levantia could make out figures charging at his direction. The Wyches were mobilising to expunge the intruder from their sanctuary and, probably, see to it that the duel continued as per order from the Archon. They moved as swift as the wind itself, closing the distance before Levantia could even find a weapon to defend himself and Darelyn.

Without warning, an inferno consumed everyone.

Levantia screamed in terror as fire engulfed him, only to realise he and Darelyn were completely unscathed despite the conflagration taking place around them. So such luck for the Wyches, however, each and every one of them burned to a crisp, their bodies literally dissolving into ashes within seconds.

As he took a better look, Levantia saw a figure standing in front of him and next to the unconscious body of Felia. His heart stopped.

Just as he was about to reconsider the validity of his rescue from the Necron.

Just as he was about to rethink the principles had been fighting for ever since he joined the Militarum Tempestus.

And just as he was about to forsake the one idol he admired more than the Emperor himself.

This happened.

Felia was right. The intruder was indeed the person he least expected.

Because he was none other than the White Hero.

* * *

_**Author's notes: **__**I got the idea of brainwashing from watching Danganronpa 3. Out of all the factions, the Dark Eldar, Chaos and Inquisition are most likely to use this method. The Tau might have been using it all along if the theory about the Ethereals is correct.**_

_**This chapter also concludes Dividus characterisation by giving us the background information about him. He shows up in previous chapters talking shit to Levantia, and now you know why.**_

_**Regarding the release of the Deathwatch, I am rather disappointed. GW should have scrapped the whole Inquisition thing and give us 3 books, one for each Ordo. The Ordo Xenos would include Inquisition and Deathwatch, the Ordo Malleus Inquisition and Grey Knights and the Ordo Hereticus Inquisition and Sisters of Battle. The Assassins are separate and in PDF format. What is going to happen now is that the Sisters of Battle are completely outdated, there is yet another Space Marine sub-faction as if there were not enough already and the Inquisition Codex still feels like a joke with people allying with any faction out there for Servo Skulls and Cullexus Assassins. **_

_**The Orks are the most numerous factions out there. Yet, despite their prolifications in games and novels, they are barely played on the tabletop. I would love to see a Codex or a Supplement for Feral Orks and Freebootaz.**_

_**Some edits have been made after the publication of the chapter to address some issues pointed out by reviewers. Thanks for letting me know. Due to computer problem, this was mistakenly updated as chapter 20. Sorry for the inconvenience.**_


	20. Chapter 20: The White Hero

Seeing the White Hero made Levantia feel like a young boy again. His childhood was a total mess and were it not for his caring mother who had sacrificed so much for her child, it would have been unbearable. His mother was the only light that shone in his life back then, and when it was extinguished by the Necron, the White Hero appeared and refilled his cup of hope.

As a youngster, Levantia had always idolised the White Hero as the ultimate saviour who arrived at the direst moment to save those in need, carried by feathered wings and emitting a warm radiance wherever he went. This obsession had continued throughout his years as a scholar and then as a cadet. Even after he became a full-fledged Tempestus Scion, Levantia still looked up to the White Hero as much as he looked up to the Emperor of Man himself, believing fully within his hear that the White Hero was an angel, a Living Saint sent by the true master of the human race. Now that he finally got the chance to meet the White Hero again, Levantia could not help but be slightly disappointed at the realisation that his fantasies were, in the end, merely fantasies. Training, experience and personal skills had made Levantia a good observer, the promotions he received so far primarily the result of this quirk. Under more critical eyes, Levantia saw the White Hero for what he truly was.

There were no feathered wings. The things sprouting on his back were, indeed, antennas.

His armour might have been white and shining in its original state, but the plethora of blood splatter and chemical burn marks had put an end to that.

He was no angel, not even a servant of the Emperor. The marking on his helmet, a tome impaled by a blazing sword, belonged to a renegade secretive Adeptus Astartes Chapter that had once served under the Inquisition. He was no Space Marine either.

There was nothing about the White Hero that looked remotely gentle, the vox unit on his helmet giving out a permanent angry expression and the way he stood motionlessly as if examining the grisly painting on a distant wall aloft and arrogant. The ashes of his incinerated enemy fluttered around him like snow.

For all these shortcomings, one fact did not change, one superbly important fact that changed everything Levantia might have perceived otherwise: the White Hero just saved his life. Again.

"You just have to come in the nick of time, didn't you?" Darelyn remarked.

"What is the meaning of this?" Levantia demanded. His mind was in such a turmoil that any form of coherency in words and actions was all but impossible. "How are you involve in this? What-what-what the fuck is going on? I am sorry, but I cannot take this anymore. I want some answers to this…this…"

"Relax," Darelyn soothed as she pulled him in for a kiss, her tongue wrapping around his dexterously to silence him. Seeing that Levantia showed so sign of resistance and had somewhat calmed down, she continued, "This man here is my employer and the reason why I am in this accursed place."

"You two are in on this together from the beginning?"

Darelyn shook her head. "Neither who I am paid to work for nor who I owe my loyalty to, he is someone with a particular ability that would allow my wish to come true as long as I do what he says. The details of this are trivial at this juncture and I will explain to your once we are through with this, but rest assure, if there is anyone who can get us out of here in one piece, it is him."

Levantia felt like he wanted to give up. He had apparently underestimated Darelyn for so long. All this time, she was a wolf in sheep's clothing. Her apparent naivety and vulnerability were probably tools for her to achieve her goals. Though her exact nature had been exposed from time to time, Levantia had always tried to play with her as she willed and reacted appropriately to which side she was showing. In the end, he was letting himself being fooled.

But then again, getting fooled by Darelyn might not have been a bad thing. When Darelyn feinted her misery so that he would confess to her, he found it more adorable than annoying. When she pretended to be captured by her not-so-boyfriend so that he would get rid of him for her, it was a real nuisance that proved detrimental to his physical being in the short run but beneficial in the long term.

"So all of this has been a lie?" Levantia asked accusingly. "Have you been putting up an act all along?"

"Pretty much," Darelyn coolly admitted. She pulled him in for another kiss. "But my love for you is every bit real. I swear it from the bottom of my heart."

So engrossed in the conversation with Darelyn that Levantia failed to notice the White Hero approaching until he was only a few steps away. Standing at about seven feet tall and with broad shoulder, albeit a rather slim body, the White Hero was as awesome as he was intimidating.

"You…you…," Levantia stuttered. "I-I did not anticipate your coming here." He cursed himself for his own stupidity and indecisiveness. This was the moment he had been waiting for two decades, to finally meet the one he worshipped for so long as someone he could be proud of, and all he could manage were platitudes.

"You know who I am?" asked the White Hero, seemingly not disconcerted by the silliness of the greeting. The voice carried both strength and tenderness just as Levantia had remembered from before. With his enhanced hearing, Levantia could determine that it was a combination of two accents layered on each other, the surface smooth and melodic much like the Eldar and the underneath more ordinary and human-like.

"Not really," Levantia answered. "You were my saviour when I was a little boy. My world was razed by the Necron and your protected me from them."

The White Hero nodded. "I am the saviour of so many people at this point that I cannot recall each and every one of them. However, I believe it is a good thing that we have something to do with each other in the past. Darelyn told me you would make a fine ally. She spoke very highly of you. I have not gotten all day to sit here and talk. It is time you made your decision now and pick which side you are on."

Levantia mulled over his situation for a moment. As this point, loyalty to him was cheap and each opportunity mattered, especially when they could change his life forever. The Tempestus Scion was the first organisation he served. When his regiment was decimated and the Dark Eldar offered him a choice, he took it, eventually rose to the rank, and became the Sybarite he was today. But now the Kabal had betrayed him as much as he had betrayed the Kabal, Levantia could see no way back. Even if the Kabal of the Shadow Talon emerged victorious, which was in itself, highly unlikely, and he played an important part in it, the chance of him having a happy ending with both Felia and Darelyn would still be slim, if not non-existent. As long as Feharuln was in charge, as long as he was at the mercy of an impulsive madman, there could be no certainty.

"Your side," said Levantia finally, his voice filled with vigour rather of defeat. There was no denying it: he was an opportunist. Wherever short-term benefits lied, he went like any sane people would do. Besides, he was not alone affected by this; any decision mattered not only for himself, but all the people he cared for as well, and the White Hero was the best, if not the only, option right now. "I am at your disposal."

"You have made your choice," said the White Hero. "Though it is not like you have any other to consider, I will still appreciate it."

"I am sorry I kept this from you so long," Darelyn said, pretending to sound guilty. "I was afraid you were too close to the Archon to see reasons. If I had known you two were acquaintances, I would have spilt the beans much sooner."

"That is all right," Levantia replied calmly. "What's done is done. After what you have forced me into, this does not come as a bombshell anymore."

"You are just too salty," Darelyn pouted.

Levantia was about to say something when Felia interrupted.

"I knew it," the Farseer grunted as she got up with one hand on her stomach. Her eyes were all bloodshot now and she was drooling like a rabbi animal. "I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. You have all forgotten about me, haven't you? I am just a third wheel in this, aren't I?"

"Felia, stop this," Levantia cried.

"I will obliterate you all and have my own happy ending!" the Farseer declared.

"Why do you not just stay down already?" mocked the White Hero. "Can you not see the inevitability of your defeat, the futility of your action, the meaninglessness of your rage directed at this decent gentleman right here?"

The Farseer directed her anger for Levantia and Darelyn at him instead, "How dare you interfere with my affair? You will pay dearly for that."

"You succumb so easily to their mind control, and you still have the gut to call yourself a Farseer?" White Hero replied derisively. "I have never expected much from someone who obsessively travels the Path of the Seer only to use their power for personal purposes, but seeing you makes me think there are lows I have not encountered before. How pathetic. You rage because he abandons you, yet you have already seen you do no deserve anything from him."

"DIEEEE!" With a croaky screech, Felia hurled a series of blasts of different colours at the White Hero who deflected them using only his hands without as much moving an inch from his spot. Though the shots never reached their intended target, they were nevertheless still lethal to the surrounding environment. Levantia and Darelyn dived for cover as explosions rippled across the once luxurious arena, tearing precious stones from their foundation and turning them into cinders.

The entrance to the colosseum collapsed and a company of Dark Eldar entered the area, firing as they went. A Venom and a Raider accompanied them. In the blink of an eye, the White Hero disappeared in a flash of light before re-materialising instantaneously right in front of Felia. The Farseer was ready for it this time and blocked his punch with an energy barrier.

As the two of them fought hand-to-hand combat, Levantia and Darelyn opened up at the newly arrived Dark Eldar. Though it pained Levantia to cut down those he once called friends and comrades, there was no other way. Besides, based on Yanarr's report and given his lack of interaction with them, it was highly unlikely they registered him as anything more than an inferior Mon'keigh who happened to be very lucky.

A dozen enemy was downed in the initial barrage, their bodies twitching in agonising deaths like fish on dry land as the toxin took effect. The rest quickly took cover and laid down suppressing fire at them, supported by heavy weapons mounted on the vehicles they brought with. Pinned behind their cover, Levantia and Darelyn were unable to return.

"Damn it. We cannot do anything with those guns still barking?" Levantia shouted. "How are we supposed to take out those grav-transports?"

"I have some haywire grenades," said Darelyn.

Levantia was far from convinced. "How are we supposed to get close enough to throw them?"

"I already have plans for that," Darelyn replied with a smile. Before Levantia could ask what she meant by that, the Raider exploded, a searing purple beam cutting it in half. Under the bellowing command of a Sybarite, the enemy spread out to face the threats on two fronts. Peering from his cover, Levantia could see another group of Kaballite Warriors entering the arena. To his relief, they were his men, human and Dark Eldar Kaballites alike, all armed and looking determined. Yanarr was leading them.

The Venom veered around to meet the new threat. Another dark lance shot was directed at it but the grav-vehicle managed to jink out of harm's way, though the manoeuvre nearly threw it out of balance and distracted the aim of the gunner on top.

"All according to plan? Like before?" asked Levantia. Surely, there was nothing so far Darelyn had not been able to get her fingers under, her determination to seal this contract with the White Hero only matched by her cunning.

Darelyn nodded impishly. "All according to plan."

With that, both of them sprang out of cover and rushed at the beleaguered Dark Eldar. Firing as he went, Levantia brought down a number of panicking foe including a splinter cannon operator who was trying to reload his weapon on the wrong side of the cover he was using. Darelyn made into melee and hacked off the head of one Kaballite Warrior who was still stunned by the turn of event with her long dagger. No sooner had his head stopped rolling on the ground than she tossed a haywire grenade at the Venom, the energy combust causing its engine to overheat and its mounted weapons cease to fire. The disembarking gunner and pilot took cover and fired back with their side arms, but without the big gun, there was no much they could do.

At this point, the battle between the opposing members of the Kabal turned into a bloodbath in the rebel's favour. Levantia's platoon pushed forward and vanquished the last remaining pocket resistance. The Dark Eldar had little concerning backup planning: they either massacre their victims or get massacred in turn.

The fight between the White Hero and Felia was also coming to an end. Bruised at a dozen places and one eye a purple-ish mess, the Farseer was losing ground quickly. As Levantia watched, Felia reeled back from a series of blows from the White Hero who seemed rather casual and effortless in his approach. A Hekatrix, Wych officer, jumped in between the two and attempted to deliver a blow against the White Hero when he was distracted. The razor whip bounced off a shield that seemingly materialised out of nowhere and embedded into the White Hero's left arm. The Hekatrix paid with her life when a gauntleted fist, imbued with power by the look of the blue light emitting from it, smashed her skull to smithereens.

Caterwauling in frustration, Felia charged the White Hero again, her entire body vibrating with raw energy. Her skin contorted and crystalline droplets poured from her eyes. Without much knowledge about the Warp and those touched by it, Levantia could tell it was a bad thing seeing that even the White Hero looked surprised by it and poised to finish her off in the same manner he had done to the Hekatrix. Before the blow connected, Levantia stepped in and caught Felia on the way. A pain that was purer than anything Levantia had experienced emerged as lightning surged through his body, coursing his veins and every muscle.

She needed him as much as he needed her. His body hot as an oven, Levantia hanged on to her with every ounce of strength he could muster.

Not letting go.

Not letting go.

Not…

The Farseer flailed wildly like an animal caught in a trap, but her power had already been exhausted and her strength spent during the fight. Levantia pinned her down and did the first thing that came up in his mind. He kissed her.

For a Farseer, Felia's mind was fragile to emotional outbursts as well as outside malign influences. When she almost succumbed to the Great Folly, this was how Levantia managed to snap her out, by causing a feeling so strong within her anything else could be drowned for a moment. Back then, she was not as crazy and beaten like this, so Levantia had some reservation when attempting this, knowing that his very life which the White Hero had gone to such length protecting was at stake should he fail. Fortunately, his method paid off again and Felia's struggle grew weaker until it ceased.

Levantia let go of Felia as his own paralysed body began to react to the torture it had been subjected to. He recovered quickly, partly because this was the second time and he knew what to expect and partly because Crox must have installed some regenerative capabilities into him, and checked on Felia to see if she was all right from that. To his relief, her breathing was normal and, despite all the damage she had taken both from the White Hero attacks and her overuse of psychic power, there did not seem to be any significant injury on her body, though what happened in her mind was another question altogether.

"That was bold and foolish of you to do so," the White Hero remarked. Out of everyone, he was the only person to have emerged from this engagement looking completely unharmed, though with that kind of armour he was wearing it would not be much of a feat. "You could have killed yourself unnecessarily to protect a traitor and weakling like her. Could you care to explain the reason behind this impulsive action?"

"I cannot let you kill her," Levantia replied bluntly. "She is my…my lover."

Levantia expected the White Hero to either laugh or make some rude comment about the statement, but his saviour simply said, "Ah. I see. You should have told me earlier so that I would go easy on her."

Levantia turned his attention to the Farseer who laid on the ground panting arduously as if every breath could be her last. "Felia, can you hear me?" he asked, holding onto Felia with abandon. "Wake up. Are you all right?"

Her eyes opening slowly, Felia responded, "Levantia. You are still here. I…I…" She probably thought of telling Levantia to murder her, but given her luck so far with that, she decided to abstain from that this time.

"You do not need to say anything," Levantia cut in quickly. "Everything will be fine now. Our rescue if here. No longer do we have to put our very lives beneath some madman. We can now get out of this forsaken place and have our happy ending together."

"But you already have Darelyn," Felia insisted. "What is the meaning of me in this relationship, if not to hinder you two from having the most out of it?"

"It does not matter," Levantia replied. "We do not need to have the most out of our relationship, as long as we can fill in whatever gaps there are by having you in it. I do not see any problem with a threesome. Certainly, in Dark Eldar society, it is all too common. In one word, we both want to have you in this as well, and there is not any logical or uncomplicated explanation for it."

"You really mean that?" asked Felia, her expression worn and battered but with a glimmer of hope. That tiny glimmer was all Levantia could ever ask for.

"Of course," Levantia confirmed.

Felia passed out at this point. With a deep sigh, Levantia hefted her on one shoulder and turned to address his men who had finished mopping up the remaining Dark Eldar in the area and were turning to confiscating anything they found useful lying around, be they from the warriors they just killed or parts of the arena decoration. Any enemy still twitching could suffer one of two things: if they were encountered by a human, a swift death would be the case; if a Dark Eldar got to them first, their fate was sealed and their agonising last moments would become sustenance for the sadistic aliens.

The true nature of the Dark Eldar was all but known to Levantia, but there was still some part of him that could not help but feel disgusted at the sight of wounded soldiers being mutilated or skinned while they were alive. So far with their foe being only Tyranids, Levantia had hoped he would not see the worst out of his men; the Great Devourers were below sentient beings to be exempted from tortures. The only Dark Eldar who showed some restraint was surprisingly Darelyn, though the fact that her employer was here might have something to do with correcting her behaviours. Even Yanarr seemed to be enjoying himself more than ever as he toyed with the tongue of a Warrior who had already lost both arms during the firefight. Levantia did what he had always done when his men slacked off: he killed the source with a shot to the head.

"I was not done with him yet," Yanarr complained.

"But I am," Levantia countered. "This is no time to be playing around. We are still at war here, remember? Give me the situation."

"The area is secured," Yanarr reported. He clapped his hands to motion his men to put an end to their obscene meal. "That the Kabal is not coming down on us with everything they've got means there must be something currently distracting them. Two of out men were killed in the fight. That leaves forty-two of us left." Levantia was pleased to hear him not distinguishing how many were humans and how many Dark Eldar. They were all Kaballite Warriors and on the same side now, though the former would not be for long, and individual background was immaterial in forming comradeship. "I see you have made it out in one piece. The Archon must be loving you. I have rarely seen him this merciful, or any Archon in general like that, in my life."

"You are the sight for a sore eye, Yanarr," Levantia commented. "I am grateful you made the decision to side with me on this. You are a superb man, or xeno, or whatever."

Yanarr looked a bit flustered at the compliment. "Well, you are the finest boss I have had for a while. I am not letting you go so easily."

"Hey, you there, who the devil are you?" Bruno declaimed and trained his weapon of choice, a dark lance, at the White Hero. "Who are you with? What the fuck is your business here?"

"I am Valentine Windsong, and I currently have no allegiance to any individual or organisation in particular," the White Hero announced. "I am a free fighter. I choose where to go, what kind of tasks to accomplish and who to kill for myself. Nevertheless, I can assure you, on this very occasion, I am your ally."

"Why should we side with you?" a Dark Eldar Kaballite raised his voice. "What is this that you have to offer to us?"

"This ship is about to become history," said the White Hero insouciantly. "By the time I am done here, there will be not even any scrap for salvaging. If you do not want to go down with it, then you had better come up with a way out, and I assure you wandering in an escape pod aimlessly in space is not a good idea."

"And we are just going to let you do that so easily?" Bruno barked. "What makes you think we will not stand in your way?"

The White Hero shrugged, a surprisingly human gesture for a person of his stature. "Your free will is always appreciated, even if that means you dig your own grave by yourself. For my personal reasons, I will not leave until this ship is thoroughly destroyed that not a single scrap can be salvaged. Stand with me, and you shall find salvation, against me and nothing but damnation awaits you."

"I will take my chance, cocky asshole," Bruno grunted as he tightened his grip on the weapon aimed at the White Hero. Similarly, other Kaballite Warriors tensed up as the White Hero's intention was made clear.

"Stop this instance," Levantia barged in before Bruno did anything stupid that might cause a turnabout that would result in utter disaster. Given how the big bastard had been behaving so far, the possibility of that was alarming. "Our situation does not permit us to sit around here arguing over petty issues. What he says is right. We are the Kabal's enemy now, and there is no turning back at this point. As much as you all hate to admit, this man here is our only hope right now. I know it is selfish of me to impose an abstract idea on you all, but I trust him from the bottom of my heart, and I wish you could all sympathise with me on this one. So, can I have all of your support for this?"

There was silence among the men, which was no surprise. The recent developments were too much for them to handle, especially the Kaballite humans who also joined the Shadow Talon out of his recommendation in the first place. First, they knew the Emperor. When that was squashed, they consented to be under the leadership of Levantia who then served the Archon. Now that Feharuln had betrayed them all, the squad had no one to trust nor to pledge their loyalty to, not that they were eager anyway after that kind of bad history.

Ultimately, Yanarr was the one that broke the silence, "We have followed you a long way, and we are glad of that. I will leave the judgement to you praying it would not get all of us killed in a pointless manner."

"I will not," the White Hero assured before Levantia could say anything. For some reason, Levantia could feel a smile cold enough to make him shiver forming under that helmet. "You are a good leader, Levantia. I hope I can see more of you like that once you are under my banner."

"I am flattered, my lord," Levantia replied condescendingly, his humility in front of the White Hero lightened up his confused, if not enraged, men.

The White Hero waited until he had all the attention in the arena before continuing. "I cannot guarantee that you all will live through this, but I can give you my word that your deaths will not be pointless ones. There is no shame in dying while fighting an enemy as insidious and cruel to prisoners as the Dark Eldar, even if you are Dark Eldar yourselves. Forget your differences, for you are all equal under my gaze. Forget your loyalty to the Archon, for you shall be serving me from now on. Know hatred, and let it ignite your heart."

"So what's the plan, mister almighty?" asked Bruno dismissively. "You came all the way here, didn't you? How are you getting us out of here?"

"Your question will be answered in time. Alas, I have wasted enough precious time talking to you all. Meet me at the command bridge and I will fulfil my promise. In the meantime, stay safe and good hunting."

"Wait, where are you going?" asked Yanarr as he saw the White Hero leaving the arena alone. "Aren't you supposed to lead us out of here?"

"Not this time," the White Hero replied. "Darelyn will make sure you find your way. I shall, in the meantime, provide a distraction as best I can to make sure you all reach your destination as safely as possible."

"Sounds like a plan," agreed Bruno. "As long as you take the shit and not us, I am fine with that."

"You are quite an interesting human," the White Hero admitted cordially. "I will look forward to having you on my side me as well."

* * *

The armoury went up in blaze. Exotic weapons that had tasted the misery of countless foe, masterfully crafted by the finest artisans of Commorragh, were reduced to nothingness in a blink of an eye. Even as the Dark Eldar reeled from such loss, simultaneous explosions rippled across the ship like a sea of blossoming flowers whose beauty rivalled their destructiveness. Engines and gunneries were crippled while hundreds of warriors were expunged to the cold void.

A timed bomb went off in the chemical containment chamber and caused a spillage that would be felt by not only the corpse storage but also the five floors below it. Hazard specialists were called to the scene but it was already too late. A major portion of the ship had been melted away and for those who were caught unaware, their fate as sealed.

Reinforcement arrived in a matter of hours since the attack began, having been on high alert ever since the Tyrannic invasion. What they found were corridors filled with freshly butchered corpses and frenzy human slaves on the loose. Something had stirred them into this state, turning usually meek and complacent slaves into maniacs who threw themselves at the guns of the Dark Eldar heedlessly of their own lives. Though hundreds were cut down in an instance, there was no end to their fury and when a few of them caught up with the Dark Eldar, they began tearing down their sadistic captors with nails and teeth like animals.

The hangar suffered horrendously as segments of the wall collapsed, crushing dozens of vehicles beneath its weight. The surviving tried to steer away and regroup, but their efforts were for nought as a white figure appeared out of nowhere within their midst. The Dark Eldar barely had time to register, let alone train their weapons, when an inferno erupted from the figure and consumed them all. There was no way to avoid it, the expanding nova touching all surfaces and holes and torching soldiers and fragile vehicles alike. The area having been pacified, the figure vanished to where it could further wreck havoc.

Wherever the White Hero went, chaos and destruction ensued. Nothing could stop him. No one was safe. Not a single soul on this ship would escape its fate after he was done here.

For so long, the Dark Eldar had raided and torture, cheated and lied so that they could ever be one step ahead of Slaanesh. Now, their long journey had come to an end as the greatest champion of the Primordial Truth, representing not Chaos but Order, came to deliver their retribution.

The main hallway became the site of a massacre as Dark Eldar soldiers threw whatever they had at the White Hero in a desperate attempt to keep him at bay. Their effort was in vain, not much from the power difference, but from the very design of the ship. The small corridors would serve them well in the even they were attacked by a foe possessing overwhelming strength or low mobility. Against a single target that moved with speed faster than them - not by ordinary means but through rapid teleportation, this did nothing but hindered their ability to react and provided abundant opportunities for their foe to outmanoeuvre them.

Armed with force weapon and empowered with hammering strength, the Valentine Windsong cut a swath through the Dark Eldar ranks, his blade hacking at bodies, armour and inferior weapons with surgical precision. For their credit, the Dark Eldar did not stand bunched up, nor did they stand still like sheep for the slaughter. Yet, with even the slightest of cut causing instant death as the victim was relieved of their spirit ignoring any regenerative effect from combat drugs, coupled with the fact there were not many places to run, they were at a huge disadvantage. Every blow with the blade, every strike with the fist and every fire blast found a target, and another Dark Eldar was no more. Skulls were crushed beneath his boots, bodies pulverised by hammers of wrath from his storm shield, organs and blood and despair filling the hallway like a melody. Retaliatory fire did little to hard his extremely thick armour while heavier weapons such as dark lances or blasters never got to fire as their wielders were targeted first or blocked by storm shield. If even Exterminatus could not prevent him from killing that Keeper of Secret once and for all, these Dark Eldar did not stand much of a chance.

Traps in their dozens lashed out to entangle and maim the intruder. They made as much progress as the ones who set them. A psyker he was but one with precognition Windsong was not; in fact, he maintained a strong disdain for any Eldar Farseer that relied too much on their visions only to fulfil what they dread with their own actions. With thick armour, storm shield, power field generator and adamantium will, he simply bludgeoned his way through the traps unharmed.

The science and logic of the way Windsong waged his war were simple. One corridor after another was clear of defences.

Move on.

Kill everyone.

Move on.

Kill everyone.

Mince and repeat.

The slaughter came to a sudden halt as Windsong stood face to face with the Haemonculus who was flanked by a small army of Wracks, Grotesques and Pain Engines. Though the Tyrannic invasion had cost his private military dearly, out of the resistance so for, it would be the Haemonculus that put up the most. Not that it mattered much, Windsong thought to himself.

"No one will regenerate you after this, Haemonculus," Windsong taunted. "Nor will anyone take up your mantle. How does it feel to die knowing the millennia of knowledge you have accumulated would be wasted or at the hand of one you wish not to lend to?

"On the contrary," said Crox in a surprisingly calm manner. This was a man who was in no position to be continuing existing in the next few minutes, and he took the fact with open arm. For all his hatred for the Dark Eldar, Windsong admired that. "I have already made my arrangements to that. My knowledge will live on and my research be carried out at the hands of another. That the next generation inherits from before outdoing the previous is the true nature of immortality, something I am very keen on having."

The White Hero cocked his head. "This another, do you trust them? Do you believe they will inherit the mantle so entirely? Do you think they will one day surpass you?"

"By what is left of my soul, yes."

"Fair enough."

Windsong sprang into action and blinked right into the middle of the opposition formation. His whirling blade shone with a brilliant light as it sliced through Wracks and Grotesques alike with ease. Even though these soldiers gained significant physical durability from the enhancements they received from the Haemonculus, their defence against direct psychic attacks were minimal. Corrupted flesh was purified as tainted soul condemned to limbo. One by one, the warriors of the Haemonculus fell to the force weapon.

The first challenge Windsong had all day came in the form of the Talos. Only two of them were left following the battle against the Great Devourer, but each packed a punch. The first one came at him with its clawed hands, only to strike at thin air where its opponent had once been. Windsong teleported himself behind the creature and struck it at the back. Though the blade went through its armour entirely, the creature was too tough that it did not yield so easily, its mechanism able to continue functioning even as the spirit of the once sentient being now serving as its base waned.

The second creature opened fire with its splinter cannon to no avail. Its melee attack with a curved edge was a second too late as Windsong once again blinked away. Returning to the first Talos, the White Hero amplified his strength further by drawing more power from the Warp. With one hammering blow from his force weapon, he split the thing's face in twain. The creature twitched and spasmed madly, ultimately coming to a permanent stop after no fewer than seven connected blows. The second Talos surged forward with arms widely extended, intent on avenging its comrade. A searing beam as hot as the sun itself erupted from Windsong's hand and melted a hole right through its chest. Unlike the previous Talos, this one went down instantly.

With that, only the Haemonculus was left. Instead of raising arms to protect himself or flee from the fight, he only stood at his place as if waiting to be delivered. The only deliverance we would receive was from Slaanesh and that was all. On his face, there was nothing but calmness, something Windsong had never expected to see from a creature of such malevolence as the Dark Eldar.

"You are not even going to put up a fight?" asked Windsong suspiciously. Out of all the enemy he had cornered before, be they champions of Chaos or the Imperium, commanders of Tau or bosses of Orks or kings of Necron, none had ever chosen to give up. They mostly fought with honour and courage till the very last breath. This was truly something new. Yet, Windsong could not say this was an act of lacked any honour nor courage: it took a certain amount of those to come to this admittance and accept. "Is this how you choose your end?"

"This is not my end," the Haemonculus replied directly. "As I have said, as long as my legacy lives, I live. Soon, the screams of agony will be heard and the excruciating pain felt again, all in my name. And there is nothing you can do about it."

A wide sneer ran across the Crox's face a second before his neck was relieved of his head. Stopping a moment to ponder what the Haemonculus had meant by that, Windsong could see no way this would not benefit him in the future. For now, however, he still had unfinished business to take care or on board the Eternity of Torment, so he moved on without staying for long.

Another corridor cleansed.

Move on to the next.

Kill everyone.

* * *

_**Author's note: This chapter is a bit late due to the apprenticeship I am taking. I can hear a lot of people crying Dues Ex Machina. Well, it is. The White Hero's biography will be explained later on. You might have already learned about him from my other story about the Imperial Guards. And that Levantia will only refer to Valentine Windsong as the White Hero is intended, as it is the name he has known (because he made it up) since his childhood.**_

_**In this chapter, Levantia is confronted with his past, but his view has changed somewhat regarding the White Hero, even if his fondness for him had not. I like the concept of having a warrior who had been trained to the point where his personality was demolished and had seen horrors beyond imagination reduced to a child by the sight of something that reminded him of something he had been holding on to despite everything.**_

_**Have you ever loved anything so much in your childhood but when you grow up and review it with critical eyes, you start to see its flaws? Mine is Pearl Habour. I love the movie as a kid mainly because I bought the DVD and always fast-forwarded to the action scenes. Michael Bay makes great special effects, but his writings are terrible.**_

_**By the time this is all over, guess who will live?**_


	21. Chapter 21: Faith and foolishness

**_Addendum 4: Character profile._**

**_Leon Wolfgang Hauptmann/Valentine Windsong (Valenthinel Shelwereth in Eldar Lexicon)._**

**Faction**: Grey Knights. Despite being part of the Grey Knights faction, Valentine Windsong can be fielded as a detachment on his own. In which case, he neither is Scoring nor can he join another unit.

**Cost**: 300 points.

**Force organisation slot**: Lord of War.

**Unit type**: Jump Infantry (Character).

**Stats**: WP6, BS6, S4, T4, W6, I4, A4, LD10, Sv2+.

**Wargear**:

Dragonscale Armour: An Artificer Armour that can self-repair, giving the user ability to re-roll one armour saving throw per phase. Due to its immense weight, Windsong loses 2 Initiative points (already included in the profile) and cannot benefit from Fleet Special Rule.

Kusanagi the Spirit Breaker: A Diresword carrying the soul of Valentine Windsong's deceased mother, this weapon was lost in the Warp after it was used to banish a Bloodthirster. As the fickleness of the Warp would have it, Kusanagi materialised a century later, still embedded in the heart of the dead Bloodthirster, and was recovered by the Grey Knights who then reforged it. Kusanagi is a Dire Sword (see Codex: Craftworld Eldar) with Force Special Rule. Attempts to manifest Force by the wielder cannot be denied, and once Force is activated, the weapon gains Shred Special Rules.

Meltagun.

Personal Teleporter.

Frag grenades.

Metla bombs.

Psy-out grenades.

Psychic Hood.

Storm Shield.

**Universal Special Rules**: Counterattack, Eternal Warrior, Fearless, Hammer of Wrath, Hatred (Kharn the Betrayal), Hit-and-run, Move through cover, Preferred Enemies (Dark Eldar and Daemons) Psyker (Mastery Level 3 - Pyromancy and Santic Daemonology), Rampage.

**Unique Special Rules**:

Psychic imperviousness: Through blessings from his secret patron and extensive, if not dangerous, mental training, Valentine Windsong is immune to the ill-effects of the Warp, making his gift as a psyker harm-free. He gains Adamantium Will and is unaffected by Warp Storm. Additionally, all Peril of the Warp result is treated as 5.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall: A one-man army, Valentine Windsong needs to find ways to take down colossal foe from gigantic Tau battle mechs to renegade Imperial Knights with what resources he has at his disposal. When Valentine Windsong inflicts D3 Wounds or Hull Points against Gargantuan Monstrous Creatures or Superheavy Vehicles, the result is always 3.

* * *

All doubts in the White Hero dissipated from Levantia's mind seeing how he had been thorough in clearing a path for him and his men. The corridors ran red with Dark Eldar blood as bodies, pieces of bodies and what seemed to have been once pieces of bodies laid scattered in the wake of his destruction. Not all of them had been cut clean, however, as quite a few looked like they had been ripped out or squashed with tremendous force or burned to crisp even though the walls, floors and ceilings still felt cold as ever. Before, the carnage hung on these walls spoke of cruel artistic and sadistic pleasuring, trophies of past victories taken to inspire as much as to entertain those who walked along the hallway; now, there was nothing but untamed violence on display. For whatever reason, while he had not truly appreciated the crude forms of arts that foot soldiers of the Dark Eldar could come up with, utterly inferior to what Crox showed him, there was a part of him that felt sad that they had gone.

Perhaps there was still a way to salvage this. If only….

Levantia snapped out of it, realising his men were looking at him with some concern. His attention to details sometimes left him distracted from other matters. So many things were happening and so little time left. How could he be so foolish as to indulge in art at a time like this?

"Are you all right?" asked Dividus. "You seemed to be dozing off there."

"I am fine," Levantia replied as stern as he could, though his voice was visibly shaking.

"You do not sound like that," said Dividus. "This is hard for you to accept, isn't it? We follow you because we have no choice and even I was sceptical at first. I was wrong. You are a true believer, aren't you?"

Levantia sighed deeply. His arguments so far with Dividus had not been in his favour, so he conceded, "It is. Before coming to this place, my thought on the Dark Eldar was that they were the lowest scum anywhere in the universe, with concepts of mercy and honour all but unknown to them. However, my time here had changed my opinion. When I made to Sybarite, my dream was to show the Dark Eldar that humans are not inferior lifeforms like they always thought, that we could fight and bleed and die and revel in destruction alongside them. I trusted the Archon. I had other friends among the Dark Eldar as well. And now…now I do not have them anymore."

"You still have Yanarr and me," Darelyn cheered him up. "And the others as well." She indicated the twenty or so humans and Dark Eldar who had switched side.

Levantia nodded. She was right. Regrets would get him to nowhere. If he had been able to finally break free his mind from the Imperial Creed that had for decades been shaping it, then this was an easy task. There was no reason to despair over this. Just as he had traded his forgiveness for Felia to stop lamenting about the damage she caused to the races of the universe by revealing the future to the Dark Eldar, this was another situation where Levantia knew he could not win it all. He just had to win what mattered. As long as Darelyn, Felia, Bruno, Yanarr, Dividus and all of his friends with him, everything was going to turn out fine.

"True," Levantia admitted, steeling himself. "Well, I guess I got a bit out of character back then. Will not happen again."

Darelyn leant over to kiss him. "Sure it won't. So, what do you want when we get out of here? Large or medium size?"

"How about we discuss that until after we get out of here?" said Levantia.

"That's no fun," Darelyn pouted. "I suppose it would give you the motivation to do your part better if you know what is in store for you. Large size it is."

Before Levantia could protest, Darelyn kissed him again, silencing him. She then broke off with a mischievous smile and headed over to the front of the formation. Levantia was stunned.

"You want a relationship like that?" asked Bruno, eyebrows cringing. "Being dominated by a xeno female?"

"Love can be painful sometimes," Levantia replied. It went without saying that Darelyn's meek and shy nature when he first encountered her was gone for good. His conversation with her in the elevator during the Tyranid attack must have awoken her inner daemon like the sunflower blooming under the sun. It was a splendid thing too, as he needed a strong personality to help him with Felia who had yet to recover from the obscenities she was subjected to by the Archon. "One day when you find that woman, you will understand, Bruno. That is if you do not accidentally smash her to a thousand pieces first."

"If she can be smashed into a thousand pieces so easily, then she is definitely not my type," said Bruno.

The platoon matched through the scene of ruination facing no resistance whatsoever. Even most the traps had all but been disabled or already activated. Nevertheless, Levantia could never be too sure and ordered his men to remain in formation and advance with caution just in case they were in for a nasty surprise, something that occurred all too often on the Eternity of Torment. Some of the Dark Eldar could not resist themselves and began plundering the piles of corpses for some loot, until Yanarr re-established discipline with a few bangs on the head and ear-pulling. Better weapons and war accessories, however, were picked up here and there, and that was the only thing allowed.

Looking at the bloodbath, Levantia realised the claustrophobic interior of this ship which was made to give an advantage to the side with less number but more elite troops had unwittingly lent the White Hero the edge in this fight. Considering how fast he could move with that arcane device allowing him to teleport, there was no way the Dark Eldar could catch up to him and he would simply pick them off one by one. Even if they gather a large enough army to threaten him, the White Hero still had the option of avoiding them and sabotaging parts of the ship that had been undermanned as a result of the gathering.

Tactically, the Eternity of Torment, while proving effective in stemming the Tyranid advance, would now become the grave for the Kabal of the Shadow Talon. There was no doubt about it.

But still, there were so many questions remained that Levantia had yet to find an answer to, and the fact they existed made him uneasy.

One, how long had the White Hero been planning for this? It must have taken weeks or perhaps months to come up with something so elaborate and all meticulous.

Two, what was he really after? If he only wanted to wipe out the Kabal once and for all, he could have just destroyed the ship. But instead of that, the White Hero had asked to rendezvous with him at the command bridge. What kind of unfinished business he had with the Archon Levantia was dying to know.

Three, how was Darelyn involved in this?

And four, after escaping then what? Would the White Hero help him get the happy ending he wanted with both Felia and Darelyn? Would all his men enjoy the same?

Levantia was surprised at the zeal with which he was chewing on the White Hero's motivation and a genuine meaning of his presence. Back then, he had accepted the Archon's offer with little issue, though that could be partly explained by how desperate he was to get not just himself but also Felia and his overseer comrades out of their deplorable situation at that point. Of course, making deals with the Dark Eldar tended to backfire, and in this case, it finally did when Felia failed to live up to the condition. Even if she had not, it would be only a matter of time before Feharuln showed his true nature as a power-hungry maniac, and sooner or later it would have to get ugly. Such was the thing with powerful figures who (rightfully) considered themselves above and beyond others. And so, despite all the love and admiration he had for the White Hero, Levantia could not help but gaze upon him and look only for clues that might indicate he was not as benevolent as he appeared.

A Wrack walked right in out of nowhere caught everybody momentarily off-guarded. Where he came from did not matter, for there was only one way he was going out of here, and no coffin would be offered. As the rebel Kaballites prepared to shoot him down for his audacity, the Wrack raised his hands, all three of them, and pleaded, "Wait, I am unarmed. I would like to meet Carlos Levantia."

"You," Levantia exclaimed, recognising it was the same Wrack who treated him after the battle against the Tyranid. "Where is Crox? Is he…?"

"The master has fallen fighting the child of the Dragon," said the Wrack. There was a hint of sadness in his voice, though whether these creatures could genuinely feel any emotion at all was not clear, his masked visage as grim as always. "Destruction has come to us like the wrath of Khaine from the heaven. All other servants are dead, but I am spared for a little while because he told me I would be most capable of convincing you."

"Convince me of what?" asked Levantia.

At this point, the Wrack produced a tome from under his robe. It was something that caught Levantia's notice before when he was in the Haemonculus's chamber, yet never grabbed his interest. The book was twice the size of an encyclopaedia and was made from what looked to be processed Greenskin fresh with what was written on the cover undoubtedly blood. As the Wrack pressed this into Levantia's hand, he told him, "This is the master's legacy. All of what he adores and all of what he is. You have been chosen as the one who will continue his work and make sure he shall live forever."

"What?" Levantia snapped. "I-I cannot accept this. No, we all need to get out of here and you are coming with us."

The Wrack shook his head. "My life is already forfeited," he explained. "Within hours I shall suffer a painful death when my time limit expires. Only the Master can prevent it using a special drug."

"There has to be something we can do about it," Levantia insisted. To be honest, he had kind of expected something along the line of that so Crox could make his personal army so fearlessly loyal to him, whereas the Archon's own bodyguards needed to be looked upon with caution even by their master. That, however, did not make it easier to accept the fact someone he knew and who had helped him before was about to meet a tragic end.

"Though your sympathy cannot touch this dry heart, I have some admiration for you," the Wrack replied. "But this is the end of the line for me here. You, on the other hand, will live on. Indeed, you will live forever, and the master's legacy will be preserved within you."

As Levantia hesitated, Bruno stepped in and snatched the tome from the Wrack. He opened it, skimmed through a few pages and then said, "I do not understand what this stuff is about, but I know for sure whatever knowledge in here is bad stuff. Very bad. I say we burn it."

"Burn it? Is that the only thing your tiny brain could come up with, Mon'keigh?" Yanarr was outraged. "Boss, this is important. That book contains immense power accumulated over thousands of years. It is literally a heritage of the Dark Eldar race. We cannot waste it."

"Both of you, cut it," Darelyn snapped. "Carlos, he is addressing you. It is only fitting that you decide for yourself. Do you really want it?"

Levantia knew he did not have much time to think. His rational side told him to leave behind this abomination and allow it to rot for the rest of time. Bruno was right. Whatever knowledge in there could be more damning than beneficial, much like the power of Chaos which many Inquisitors still claimed to harvest to counter itself. His run-in with Vrok and his deranged experiments consolidated this belief. Not only that, given his lack of understanding of the Eldar language, there was little he could do even if he had the tome at his disposal. On the other hand…

He could not refuse it.

His relationship with Crox had been brief and sketchy at best, but during the hours which they create artworks together, Levantia could feel genuine liking between the two of them, no matter how he tried to ignore that. To let the Haemonculus down was to let down a mutual confidant, something Levantia was loathed to.

It was either his conscience or his rationale.

At this moment, in the belly of the Eternity of Torment, surrounded by the people who loved him, Levantia decided to follow the latter.

"I accept."

"Splendid," the Wrack said. Without further words, he brought the blade up to his throat and slashed his head off, leaving Levantia standing dumbfounded. The rest of the platoon reacted with a mixture of shock and disgust. For a Dark Eldar to commit suicide, it was a sign of either total despair or supreme hope or extreme stupidity. To die was to invite She-Who-Thirsts to consume their very soul which they had spent their entire lives shielding from.

"Let us move on," said Yanarr at long last. "We have a meeting to catch."

* * *

At length, the platoon encountered a number of Dark Eldar in armour the colour of bleach setting up barricades in the next open hall. Too busy were they in their task that they did not notice the rebel coming.

"Prepare to attack," Yanarr ordered, and the others readied their weapon. The plan was simple but perfect, with one-hundred percent rate of succeeding: take the enemy down using the element of surprise. These bastards were unlikely to recognise them as rebels due to poor overall communication between parts of the ship and would be caught completely off-guarded.

Even if they were prepared, it was still one against three. Those pitiful barricades made up of furniture and dead bodies would provide them little protection against superior firepower from Levantia's platoon.

Even if they were prepared and had the same number, the reserve troops would stand no chance against the core Kaballite force who were not only better armed but also professionally trained, not to mention Levantia was leading them.

But that was not the plan.

"No, wait," Levantia demurred. "Let's do this another way."

"Should we ignore them and move on?" asked Yanarr. "I believe there is a way around."

Levantia shook his head. "I think we should try to negotiate with them. If we tell them of the imminent destruction of the ship and that following us if the only way to live, I believe they will listen."

"Did you hit your head at some place in the last fight?" Darelyn pressed. "We are all renegades, remember? Our blades and souls are no longer on the same wavelength as theirs."

"True, but they are desperate," Levantia explained. "I know for a fact that a desperate Dark Eldar would do anything to save their skin, no offence to all of you here. We can ask them to join our force as well."

"Why must we lend them aid?" asked Yanarr incredulously. "What could we possibly hope to gain out of this to make up for the wasted time?"

Levantia was at a temporary loss of word. He mulled over as to how to phrase his intention without sounding too outrageous or too difficult for his men to comprehend. The death of Crox and the Wrack who had been treating him had influenced him in this decision. He looked at Felia who was still unconscious on his shoulder and said, "It is not about gaining anything. Those poor bastards there are going to die if we do not help them. After all we have been through, I am loathe to leave them behind like that, not when there is another way. The White Hero does not need our help in any way. With such prowess at his disposal, he could have easily abandoned us all to our fate and gone about on his separate path unabated, but he did not."

"We are in a grim and dark time where we have to conduct monstrous things to survive on a daily basis. However, I refuse to become the monster like so many other good souls have, especially with that time soon to pass for good. You all agreed to help Felia back then. What is the difference now?"

"You are one heck of a person, you know that?" commented Dividus.

"Is this an order?" Bruno drawled in a challenging tone. "Are you going to have us all executed if we disobey?"

"Just a suggestion," Levantia replied. "If you all wish against it, then I will have no choice by to comply."

"Let's just get this over quickly then," urged Darelyn. "Time is lost as we stand around here bickering. I will see that my persuading skills are still relevant on someone not a human."

The platoon finally met up with the group of eleven Dark Eldar who were manning the barricade with a sense of abandon Levantia was all too familiar with in the Tyranid incursion. When Levantia's unit approached, the defenders seemed somewhat relieved, though an expression of disdain was clearly written on them. The rivalry between core troops and reservists persisted even in difficult times.

Yanarr spoke with whoever was in charge and reported back to Levantia, "They say there has been a revolt among the slaves and some parts of the ship has been overrun. No communication has been established with the leadership. Everything is going to hell. They are trying to set up defensive position here for a last stand." The last part seemed a bit unbelievable, as the concept of die hard should be completely non-existent among the Dark Eldar; not only did they lacked the bravery to commend their very souls to She-Who-Thirsts, but their combat tactics which relied on speed and stealth also made this inappropriate. Nevertheless, there seemed to be some form of logic in it given the current state, their lack of understanding of the ship's interior, poor training and overall confusion.

Nothing made sense anymore. It was all mad on board the Eternity of Torment now with all things ugly and stupid about the Dark Eldar exposed, courtesy of the White Hero.

"I do not care what are they planning to, just tell them this ship will not last and they need to come with us if they want to live," Levantia commanded briskly.

"As you said," Yanarr replied dispassionately and went on to negotiate with the reserve troops.

"Let me help," Darelyn chimed in.

As it turned out, the parley did not go as well as Levantia has anticipated. The Dark Eldar manning the barricade responded to the revelation in the most irrational possible manner by attempting to raise arms and fight back, not that it would change their fate even if they somehow managed to come out on top anyway. Whether this bunch was particularly stubborn or idiotic or both was beyond him who could not understand even the slightest of what they were saying, and let his second-in-command and Darelyn took care of business.

Eventually, the reserve troops calmed down from the initial shock, their weapons lowered and their voice more collect. As the situation was made clear to them, they seemed to accept the deal. Unfortunately, before Levantia could give the order to move out, an humanoid high-pitched scream pierced the air like a cannon ball penetrating a drum.

"What the heck is that?" asked Bruno, concerned.

Footsteps could be heard outside the hallway. Lots of them. Like an army of rushing their way. But not the Tyranids, these were humanoid feet.

Coming in fast.

"This looks bad," said Darelyn.

"We should leave this place," shouted Levantia urgently. Overstaying in such a parlous place in the middle of turmoil was a bad idea, but Levantia had let his instinct to help out others get the better of him. He hoped it was not too late to pull out. "Now. Right now! Yanarr, get the men to move. These reservists too."

As the platoon prepared to head to the next hallway, the enemy showed their ugly faces. To call this a rebellion by the slaves would be as total a misunderstanding as calling the entire Horus Heresy a family conflict. These were human slaves they were dealing with all right, but at the same time, they were not those intimidated and broken souls they used to be. One look in their face and the immeasurable rage was palpable. The eyes were red as blood and no sign of humanity was left on them. This reminded Levantia of the plague zombies he had fought before in the cleansing of a Nurgle-infested world. Where zombies shambled at a pitiful pace, these moved with inhuman speed for such frail bodies, literally throwing themselves forward like a swarm Tyranids.

This was definitely not the slaves taking advantage of the turbulence to conduct an uprising; not even in the Tyranid invasion had something remotely similar taken place. The use of some sort of drug to induce this horrific state on them was obvious, just as Felia had been subjected to so that she would fight Levantia to the death. However, it did not look like true love kisses would do these bastards any good right now. Since releasing the slaves at this point would only add further obstacles to the Dark Eldar, there was no doubt the White Hero himself was behind this. For a glorious being, a member of an Astartes Chapter, he was not above using underhanded and despicable tactics to achieve victory.

"Establish formation and open fire," Levantia shouted. He placed Felia on the floor and readied his weapon seeing that they could not outrun the mob of onrushing maniacs, at least not the human Kaballites. "Cut them down. Do not let them get close."

To his relief, Yanarr must have done a superb job training his men using Levantia's method during his absence because as soon as the order was passed and translated, the troops got to two firing lines and let loose volleys after volleys of splinter fire at the foe. To kill his fellow humans did not feel right to Levantia even when he still believed he could begin a career in the Kabal, but these were no longer humans by any definition and slaying them was to bring their abhorrent existence to a merciful end.

The first wave of enemy was cut down quickly. For all their fury and speed, these maniacs were nowhere as resilient as zombies. The second wave fell to the last just as they reached the barricade. The third and final wave hit the barricade like a storm. Though dozens were killed in a matter of seconds, they broke through the makeshift barrier which had been inexpertly constructed (the Dark Eldar being no good at last stand and all) and clawed at the Kaballite soldiers with hands and teeth and whatever blunt objects they could get their hands on. Some of them wielded guns, but they seemed content to use them as no more than clubs.

"Hold fast," Levantia cried as he smashed the jaw of one of the attackers with the butt of his gun. To his left and right, his men were also engaged in vicious close combat against the incoming horde. "We have stared into the maw of the Great Devourers and still live to tell the tale. We shall not die this day, not at the hand of these pathetic degenerates."

As the melee ensued, Levantia could hear intelligible (quite) blabberings amidst the incessant moaning and screaming.

"Hungry. Fresh. Food. Must eat."

"Join us. Feels good."

"Death to traitors and xenos."

"My cabbages!"

For the most part, the Kaballites help the upper hand with the first line holding off the maniacs while the second providing supporting fire. The enemy was getting thinned out, pushed back and Levantia could finally see the end of them.

Suddenly, an explosion somewhere else on the ship shook the entire area with its shockwave and almost everyone was thrown flatly on the floor, Bruno literally crushing one of the assailants in his descent. As the Kaballites scrambled to regain their balance, their foe wasted no time falling upon them like predators. In seconds disciplined defence Levantia had set up become a chaotic brawl. The Kaballites still had better training and close combat weapons, but the ceaseless ferocity of the enemy meant a few were dragged and torn by mobs of raging humans. By the time their comrades cleared enough of the maniacs to reach them, it was already too late and their bodies mauled beyond recognisable.

Levantia shot an enemy in the head with his pistol at point blank and with a back swing, decapitated another with the Wych spear he still had from the arena. Next to him, Darelyn moved among the foe with grace, hacking and cutting at vital spots. The precision with which her blows were struck would have put an Astartes to shame. Between the two of them, no maniac could reach Felia.

"YOU!" A bellow caught Levantia's attention. To his terror, the one addressing him was a familiar face. Much paler than before, but the expression of righteous anger was still there. The face belonged to the father whose son he once tried to feed. "Traitor. I kill you. I kill you all."

For a moment, Levantia froze as the flush of memory overcame him.

"Levantia, watch out," Darelyn cried.

Momentarily distracted, Levantia did not notice another maniac hitting him in the flank. The fighting was simply too hectic to see exactly what was going on and who was doing what. He doubled over as the butt of a splinter rifle was bludgeoned into his stomach. The maniac prepared for a second strike, but Darelyn intervened and rammed her knife into the back of his head and through his mouth. Two more maniacs appeared behind Darelyn and dragged her screaming back, leaving Levantia in too much pain to do anything to help.

The father charged at Levantia with a murderous rage. Unable to move his body, Levantia braced, expecting to be thrown over and pinned down by the charging foe. Before the father could reach him, however, another figure tossed himself into the maniac and knocked him sideways. Levantia could faintly see it was Dividus, but he was soon lost as the foe swarmed him.

"Dividus!" Levantia cried. "Dividus!"

No answer came, only the sound of screaming and things banging together. As the pain subsided, Levantia picked up his halberd and cut through the enemy, hoping he would reach Dividus in time against all odds. As it turned out, there was no need to help out Darelyn who dispatched her assailants with ease and moved on. Maniacs hurled themselves in Levantia's way, but the weapon was masterfully crafted and Levantia hacked them apart with ease. Once he got the hang of it, it became almost too easy.

With the last enemy in the area defeated, an air of silence permeated the hallway. Levantia eventually got to where Dividus made his final stand. His heart sank: he was too late. Dividus was still alive but badly mauled and it did not take a medic to know he would not make it; his innards were all over the place and one of his legs was gone. The man made a good account for himself, however, with no fewer than eight maniacs lying dead beneath him, the father included. For a moment, Levantia wondered if his son was among the maniacs in here. He sincerely hoped not, for it was better that the boy died from starvation as soon as possible to spare him from further suffering and dehumanisation.

"Levantia," Dividus managed as Levantia approached. "I told you…those lower-class were…no good. You…should have listened to me."

"I…I am sorry I could not keep my promise to you," Levantia stuttered as tears flooded his eyes. To see another friend perish after everything they had been through together, this was too hard for him to accept. "It is all my fault this is happening. I should have listened to you. I should not have stopped. How could I be so stupid?"

"Don't…blame yourself," said Dividus, his voice growing weaker. "You did it…because you thought it was right, just like me…when I betrayed my friends." He coughed. His eyes were dimmer now. "I could not protect my loved ones. Live on. Do what I...could not."

As Dividus took his last breath, Levantia felt devastated by what just occurred. Yanarr quickly filled in the report as always, and according to him, fourteen Kaballites were killed in the previous battle including six reservists. Most others took only light injuries but two were seriously wounded and needed to be carried for the rest of the journey. All in all, the gain from this engagement could not justify the loss. Levantia saved five but at the cost of eight men, not to mention those that were injured. Given the number of maniacs dead at the hand of his platoon, in another time this could have been declared a victory, but since this engagement should not have taken place and any death inflicted meaningless, Levantia could not see it as anything other than a complete and total defeat. under his leadership.

A defeat under HIS leadership.

The most terrible casualty was the morale. All the men now looked at Levantia with doubts on their faces. Even the Dark Eldar looked exhausted by the ordeal and did not enjoy looting the corpses and searching for survivors to torture anymore. Levantia could see what his wrong decision had done to them. He had led them to great victories, but this was a reversal they were not accustomed to.

"Carlos, don't take this too hard on yourself," Darelyn soothed, her hands gently wiping the blood on his face like a mother cleaning her child. "Mistakes and misfortune come to all of us sometimes. It was also partly our fault for not trying to stop you. You said yourself you would follow our opinion." To this, Levantia simply nodded. He could not show weakness, not at this critical moment where the lives of so many depended on him.

Turning back to his men, Levantia said with as much rigour as he could muster, "We should move on. There is no time to waste here." He picked up Felia who, at this point, had gotten the habit of sleeping when big fights were happening. If only she could pull her weight on this, then this fight might have been elementary.

Yanarr did the translation. There were no arguments against, no complaints, not even any whining. The platoon was tired and depressed, but they remained stalwartly loyal to Levantia. With that, the march continued.

To ultimate freedom, no matter the cost.

* * *

Eventually, they met up with the White Hero who was standing in wait in the corridor leading to the command headquarter on the ship. Upon their arrival, the White Hero's eyes focused for a moment on the exhausted and defeated face of Levantia and the frail body of the Farseer still on his shoulder. His gaze shifted to the rest of the platoon all wearing the same expression, paying particular attention to Bruno, or the massive tome he was carrying. Making no comment on that, the White Hero turned to Darelyn and asked, "You are late. A minute later and your tardiness can this whole operation at risk. To you, of course, not to me."

"It was not her fault," Levantia raised his voice but was immediately silenced as the White Hero's stern stare fell on him. He was too ashamed to say anything. The White Hero thought highly of him and he had failed him just as he had failed the Archon.

"We ran into some compromises," said Darelyn coolly.

"There seems fewer of you," the White Hero remarked. "And there are new faces around, not enough to make up for the ones missing, though."

"One of the compromises was costly to us," Darelyn replied.

The White Hero paused for a brief moment before saying, "Very well. We are close to our final destination. Hold fast, stay behind me the whole time, and you will get out of here alive. I promise."

A minute later and they stood in front of the entrance to the Archon's quarter which also happened to be where important decision-making by the Kabal took place. Looking at the doors on which the story of the Eldar's fall was told, Levantia felt the same trepidation he once did when he first entered this place, not knowing what kind of turn would his destiny take.

The White Hero opened the doors and walked right in as though it were his home while the rest followed him with caution. Within the chamber, the Archon, flanked by his Incubi bodyguards and members of his staff, stood ready.

"Feharuln," the White Hero began with an uncharacteristically cheery voice. "You are a sight for a sore eye, are you not? It is great to see you have risen high, but that only means your descent will be even more painful."

"I have no idea who you are or why you have an axe to grind with me," the Archon hissed. "But this is MY ship. You entered without MY permission. Your actions harm MY crew and affect MY interest. Do not think you will be leaving this place alive."

"Your ship?" the White Hero laughed. "That is a wild claim. I do not remember assigning it to you."

The Archon's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" he asked. There was fear in his voice, no matter how he tried to conceal it.

At this point, the White Hero took off his helmet and let his waist-length blond hair flow down freely. Where Felia's yellow hair was the colour of gold, the White Hero's had a much deeper tone and felt more like a field of wheat on a bountiful year. His face was handsome like any other Eldar but some of the features looked rather rough, if not human-like. The eyes were purple and his ears were sharp to the point they looked like they could be used as a weapon if aimed at someone's eyes. A cruel smile ran across his face as he drank in the Archon's horror.

"It...it cannot be," Feharuln stuttered as all signs of self-restraint abandoned him. His face spoke of a level of horror Levantia had never seen before, not even when the Archon was losing his fight against the Hive Tyrant. "Slavara?" To which, the White Hero nodded.

Levantia was as appalled as the Archon at the revelation. When he thought he had so much in common with the Archon, he never realised they were idolising the identical person all along. When Felia made her prediction about the one no one expected coming to destroy the Kabal, she was right for both him and the Archon.

Because the White Hero and Archon Slavara were one and the same!

* * *

**_Author's notes: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all. I hope you are having a great time with your family and friends because I sure do._**

**_This chapter features several characters who had appeared once before in the story and not seen ever again. With everything coming to a conclusion, I decided it would be best to give them some proper ends in grimdark manners. This chapter also contains information that would justify a bromance between Levantia and the Archon, or perhaps even a threesome if the White Hero is interested (or four if you count Crox)._**

**_Recently a game called Space Hulk Deathwing was released and I do not like it from the playthrough. Both the gameplay and the environment feel very repetitive. The haunting atmosphere does not fit a game where you are an invincible god and shoot down hordes of enemies. There are no xenos vessels to discover. The Genestealers lack variety. Co-op is poor compared to Star Wars Republic Commando and Left 4 Dead. The badass music in the trailer is not even there. All in all, I recommend Legacy of Dorn: Herald of Oblivion over this. _**

**_There is also a reference to Avatar. Can anyone spot it?_**


	22. Chapter 22: Kabal's end

Feharuln had never felt so exhausted his entire life. It took considerable effort for him to even breath, let alone stand and put up a straight face. Every bone fibre in his body ached as though an Ork had just given him a massage while his eyes felt like bubbles that could pop at any moment. In a blink of an eye, the planning, the ambitions and the pride he had been harbouring his entire life seemed meaningless. All he wished now was to sit down, have some refreshment, and, for the first time in ages, enjoy his much-deserved relaxation.

But alas, not in the face of that man. The man he trusted more than anyone. The man he worshipped like a hero or a god. The man he strived every day to live up to or even surpass.

The man who gave him everything was now here to take everything away, like the tide rising and waning under the moon's gravity.

Archon Slavara. Or whoever, whatever even, he was this time. Such delicious irony Feharuln watched with great joy when at the receiving ends were his rivals but shirked when it was on him.

But this was NOT the Slavara he knew.

Not the wise leader who led an obscure Kabal to glory beyond anything its members had ever dreamed of.

Not the stubborn tyrant who put his life on the line to protect the district he ruled and survived a full onslaught by a rebellious Wych cult even after all his bodyguards had all been cut down.

Not the compassionate figure who saw value in those others would stare down with contempt.

Not the generous soul mate who allowed Feharuln to share bodily pleasures with behind closed doors.

And definitely not the lowly fool who threw away his entire career, his army and his life over the course of a single battle. Feharuln had always known there was something amidst that raid on Festull; no matter how the place was well-defended by the Mon'keigh, he had absolute faith that Slavara could not possibly have lost unless he wished so. And now, seeing how the former Archon stood in front of him with a self-satisfying smirk on his face, Feharuln highly believed the fiasco was a ruse all along.

Even the features were drastically different. As far as Feharuln could remember, the old Archon was a giant of an Eldar with bulging muscles, thick torso, Ork-like skin and shoulders as wide as two men combined. When he walked among the troops, he towered above most of them and made even the likes of Wracks look small in comparison. The Slavara standing in front of Feharuln right now was heavy-built for sure but nowhere as large as he used to be. Most denizens of the Dark City could not gain or lose weight no matter how hard they tried due to rigid genetic code, a design so that the Halfborns would forever be left behind; only through "services" by the Haemonculus could their bodily carnal desires be fulfilled, but never for free. Yet, where the mass of Commorragh would sell their children and parents to grow bigger by a few inches or gain a few pounds beyond what the gods had allowed them, Slavara had gotten much lighter than before.

The visage, too, was not similar. A life dedicated to the frontline was not an easy one, and Slavara's face spoke of that. His devotion to combat earned him a face that was a patchwork of scars and deformities accumulated from hundreds of engagements, some of which so severe and permanent that not even the most skilled Haemonculus could do anything to fix. The constant application of artificial skin implants and preservative chemicals could barely retain his expressions, let alone his glamour. The one right here had none of those, his face clean and white, completely untarnished despite the countless battles he no doubt had taken part in before coming here.

All of these should have raised red flags to a less experienced or more desperate Dark Eldar, but Feharuln once again knew better. The way the intruder talked, walked and now glared at him with eyes that regarded him as an enemy to be destroyed, not a toy to played with (most Dark Eldar would look at someone, friend or foe, with the latter). The way everything was planned ahead and executed with surgical precision over an extended period of time. The way he punched through the ship's defences and slaughtered hundreds of warriors without breaking a single sweat. If not Slavara, Feharuln could not think of any creature in the universe capable of such.

And so, instead of denying the undeniable truth, Feharuln accepted it. "Slavara, what are you?" he asked, his voice trembling as though something was stuck in his throat.

"Slavara never existed," the intruder replied bluntly. "Since there are quite a few humans around here, I consider it best to use my Low Gothic name, Valentine Windsong."

"I am asking, WHAT are you?" Slavara repeated.

After a long pause, Windsong responded, "I am what the Master makes me." The answer sent a shiver down Feharuln's spine. The Great Father was a mysterious almighty figure brought to the sovereign under Slavara by its leader himself which he claimed could be worshipped without any connection to the Warp. Some who were more devoted to the old Archon adopted it, while others paid no attention to such nonsensical superstition.

Now, Feharuln knew the truth. Indeed, the Slavara, or Windsong as he revealed himself, had since then made nefarious pacts with powers beyond reckoning to become like this; the thought of the existence of unspeakable forces that lurked the galaxy still was unsettling, even for a Dark Eldar Archon. Another long silenced followed.

"You," Windsong continued, "on the other hand, have outperformed my expectations. When I left those pesky followers to their death on Festull, I thought the Kabal would dissolve in the absence of its best and brightest. I was wrong. It seems you have been paying close attention to my teaching."

"It took a lot of hard work," said Feharuln as though commenting on which slave to have its bowel pulled off. All his career, he had wanted to see the old Archon look upon him with pride, and now it was happening, albeit in the most unexpected circumstances.

"You deserve the credit for bringing the Kabal together," said Windsong. "The tip of your tongue is indeed sharper than the edge of my sword. However, you are not without faults. You let your guards down, you made pacts and contracts that spoke of weakness and foolish compliance, you took everything at face value and never looked between the lines. You suffered the cowardice of Craftworld Que'liac, ridding them of the Ork plague while underpaid. You trusted the predictions of a renegade Farseer more than your intuition, losing half of your troops in a single stroke."

"And your point?" Feharuln hissed.

Windsong shook his head with what Feharuln could interpret as sadness. Perhaps there was still a part in this abomination of a creature that was the proud and noble Slavara. Still a part of him that did not want to conclude his scheme. "As I have said to you before, your role is in the administration. That is where you can thrive and live the rest of your days. The fall of the Shadow Talon would not be an issue since there are other Kabals who wish to possess your talents. Becoming an Archon was… a mistake on your part."

Feharuln felt his anger boiling at the comment. His idol or not, no one was allowed to speak such to him. Slavara was no longer the ruler of the Kabal; he had no right to criticise its current leader while it was his machination that induced its downfall. Slavara no longer owned this ship; to set foot on it without Feharuln's permission was an affront of the highest order and severe punishment was the only possible course of action. Shoving all his fond memory of the former Archon aside, Feharuln gathered his resolve.

He needed no pity.

He needed no drama.

And he needed no one to tell him what he did right or wrong.

"And you think you are in any position to judge?" Feharuln countered.

"That was not a judgement," said Windsong. "Only the Master can judge. I am merely stating facts."

"Then what is your purpose here?" asked Feharuln venomously. "You have already destroyed the ship and sealed my fate. Why are you still here? Do you love me so much you have been dreaming to see me again?"

"You are the sight for a sore eye for sure," Windsong laughed. "But not that. You currently possess certain artefacts, spoils of your conquest, that I would very wish to reclaim."

"You came all the way here for some trinkets?"

"Your trinkets, my treasures. Let us get this over with. This ship shall be no more in a few minutes, and I have my objectives to accomplish. Killing you, while not one of them, seems to be the only option I have at the moment. Unless you change your mind and join me, of course."

"You are giving me a way out?" asked Feharuln suspiciously.

"Repentance is the first step to redemption," said Windsong. "No sin is too great, no retribution unavoidable."

Feharuln mulled over the offer. "My gratitude," he answered. "But you know very well that is impossible. I do not obey like a dog anymore. I rule. Not even death and damnation will sway me."

"Then so be it," Windsong replied as he raised his arms.

Feharuln had had problems in his career. The ambush by the Mon'keigh Inquisitor who had a diviner was a tough one. His army would have been thoroughly decimated if not because of the Farseer's timely counter-prediction. There was the failed raid that saw half the Kabal felled at the hands of the Space Marines. His over-reliance on sorcery had cost him dearly then. And finally, of course, he had to deal with the Tyranid invasion.

This, however, was not a problem - it was an insurmountable obstacle.

Feharuln knew he could not come out of this alive, no amount of negotiation or divine intervention could save him, no trickery or stroke of luck could stay his fate. After today, the Dark Eldar would have one fewer Archon and Kabal. Nevertheless, as a Dark Eldar Archon, he would not go down without a fight. To harm Windsong himself was going to be difficult, but Feharuln knew where to strike to hurt him to most.

* * *

The brief conversation between the Archon and the White Hero had left Levantia in a state of speechlessness. For all the spite he had for the Archon for what he did to Felia, Levantia had new-found respect for him. Even in the face of certain death, Feharuln was an unmovable object, his creed and style he willingly taking with him to the grave instead of converting. To do so required more than simple courage or determination - it took no small amount of self-appreciation. As someone who had gone from serving one lord to another and had affairs with two women without ever reconciling them, Levantia wished he had such courage.

The dead silence was broken as the White Hero leapt forward at the Archon and his retinue. Feharuln clapped his hands and, on cue, the Incubi moved ahead and met him head on. One was pulverised by the hammering blow from the shield, fragments of armour and bones sent flying in all direction, and another was decapitated. To Levantia's, the White Hero's, surprise, the Incubi moved passed him, allowing the rest of Feharuln's staff to enter the fray. Though their numbers were thinned out with every blow from the White Hero's sword, the retinue fought on with savage glee, each and every one of them no doubt having taken expensive pills that rendered them immune to the feelings of fear and despair, pain and death.

Knowing that Feharuln would not allow he and his men to get out of this ship alive, Levantia ordered the men to take up position and fight back. At this point, the Archon must have already been well-aware that his doom was imminent, but that would not prevent him from making sure his opponents also paid for it. While defeating the White Hero was out of the question, he would go after what was vulnerable, yet capable of inflicting hurts on him, the humans and Eldar he promised to protect.

"Stand your ground," Levantia shouted as passionate as he could. "This is the final blockade on our road to freedom. Win this, and we shall never have to worry again."

"Let's hope for it," said Bruno. "Or I will kill you again right beneath the Golden Throne in the afterlife."

"It has been a great pleasure fighting alongside you," Yanarr echoed.

"We will make it," added Darelyn optimistically. "I know we can."

Levantia's prediction was realised as, instead of going for the White Hero who was tied up by the blob, the Incubi headed straight for the group of rebel. Incoming splinter fire was ineffective against their armour which seemed as tough as Power Armour donned by Astartes, and only one was dropped when a needle found its way to the joint at the neck. A Dark Lance shot out and seared away one more Incubus. Despite their thick armour, the Incubi moved as fast as the skimpily-clad Wyches. The rest of them made it to melee.

Eight Incubi against more than forty rebels. And the Incubi tore them apart.

Levantia soon found himself fighting for his life in a deadly duel against the Incubi squad leader, known as Klaivex. To his left and right, his men were cut down mercilessly. Where most Dark Eldar fought like maniacs, channelling their battle-lust and lack of self-control into productiveness (or sometimes counter-productiveness), these were highly disciplined warriors that struck and blocked with precision exceeding even Astartes. The fought with purpose and determination, not passion and madness. Adding to the detriment, Levantia had little idea what these warriors were capable of other than the fact they were the corrupted version of the Eldar Aspect Warriors which he also knew little of. The Incubi were a new detachment and did not see action during the Tyranid invasion. Though it was in desperation that the Archon called upon them as his bodyguards, this actually worked in his favour this time.

The Klaivex's mastery with his twin curved combat blades put Levantia on the back foot, forcing him back and constantly blocking and evading. As a Tempestus Scion, Levantia had learned only the most basics in the art of close combat, which upon facing the likes of Chaos Space Marines and Dark Eldar, he instantly knew it was inadequate. However, Levantia still had his talents to fall back to, his ability to observe and quickly evaluate. This was helped by the fact that his body was no longer that of a normal human but something more akin to a Dark Eldar, meaning that he was not only more agile but his innate reflexes had also improved. Even with half of his moves based on wild guessing his opponent, Levantia kept his skin where many of his men could not, for now.

An explosion shook the room. Where the White Hero once stood, a fireball materialised and expanded until a good chunk of the Dark Eldar swarming him was consumed. A Sslyth warrior shook off the flame and came forward, only to be hit squarely by a melta-like beam coming from the White Hero's palm. Such was the devastation of the attack that the Sslyth's torso and head disappeared altogether, severed arms and lower body falling.

The White Hero vanished before materialising in front of the Archon a mere second later, poised to strike. The Archon was ready, however, and negated the attack with his own sword crackling with dark energy. Though he fought with excellent swordsmanship, on par or even exceeding the White Hero regarding pure skills, his strength and weapon were inadequate to cause harm to his opponent. The remaining bodyguards fought loyally till the bitter end even as they were cut being cut down to the last.

"Betraying the Kabal was a foolish decision, whelp," the Klaivex taunted. "I welcome death. It is the Path I have chosen. You, on the other hand, have too much in life to accept it, do you?"

"I have no wish to die here," Levantia replied as he struck back with his halberd. The weapon he wielded was finely crafted, but each and every item in the hands of the Incubi was of the highest quality that regular Dark Eldar, even Trueborns, could never have dreamed of. The Klaivex effortlessly parried it before spinning around for a counterstrike. Levantia avoided this one by the skin of his teeth.

"Since I will not live in the next few minutes anyway, let's give it all I have," said the Klaivex. If Levantia was having a hard time before, he was rapidly being overwhelmed by the series of attacks from his opponent now. With every attack parried or missing, another came with impeccable accuracy. Every time he thought he had evaded danger, another deathly blow came his way. "You die now," the Klaivex declared as he disarmed Levantia with a deft side sweep.

As Levantia's mind was in turmoil, desperate for a way out, the Klaivex patiently drew closer to his cornered and defenceless prey like a butcher to a tied pig. Before he could land the finishing blow, Darelyn appeared and stabbed both her knives into the corrupted Aspect Warrior's chest. The attack was carefully timed and left the Klaivex unable to do anything about as he was in the middle of his motion. Unfortunately, both knives did not dig deep, their momentum slowed by its thickness and the sharpness of their edges blunted by how hard the armour was.

What happened next, in retrospective, could have been much better. Either she got a bit overconfident or the pressure from consecutive battles had taken a toll on her psyche or the knives she wielded were not in the best shape. It had never dawned on Levantia that Darelyn was the careless type, not when she was fighting the Tyranids and not against those Dark Eldar in the arena before. Then why?

Why? Why? Why? Why? WHYYYYYY?

Darelyn tried to pull out her weapons, only to find them stuck in the Incubus's armour. The couple of seconds she struggled to unplug her knives felt like an eternity. They allowed Levantia to cried out in warning, his voice booming over the hectic battle surrounding him. They also allowed the Klaivex to complete his motion and brought his blade down. The blow that was meant for Levantia cut open Darelyn's midriff and she felt without a sound.

"NOOOOOOOOO!" A screaming and panicking Levantia picked up his halberd and attempted at the Klaivex once more. The fallen Exarch swung his demi-glaives from two directions and hacked the weapon Levantia was wielding in three, leaving him disarmed and dumbfounded. With a spinning kick to the chest, the Klaivex knocked his opponent off his feet.

"It's over," the Klaivex declared as he prepared the killing strike. The next moment, a ball of transcendent energy hit him and he exploded, body wholly evaporated in a thick cloud of pink. His armour was built to withstand most shots and stabs, but unless against a psychic attack. Levantia turned to see Felia was on her feet again, albeit wobbly so. Her face was beet red and her body shook violently. She sagged, her breathing frantic. A great deal of blood poured from her nose and ears.

"Felia, are you…?" Levantia asked, but the Farseer fainted before he could finish.

* * *

"Your efforts are futile," Windsong remarked as he walked through toxins in the forms of liquid, gas and darts alike without issue. The Lhamaean who foolishly dispatched those looked to be in a state of utter panic, being the only bodyguard remaining and the final obstacle between him and the big boss of the Kabal. "I care not if these substances can knock out a Canifex in a single dose, as long as you have no means of penetrating this armour, you are useless."

At this point, Varuq the Lhamaean discarded her weapon and knelt down begging rather pathetically. "Please, you have what you want, so spare me. I shall impede you no more. No, I will serve you. Please take me with you."

"Perhaps I should think about that," Windsong replied sarcastically. Varuq was one of the best toxicists he had hired, but also one of the most annoying. As long as he could tolerate her stupid and often pessimistic comments, things would go all right and his enemy would have a taste of the finest poisons there were. No Archon would let some speak whatever they wanted and get away with it, but no Archon would be foolish enough to easily throw away a valuable asset over mundane faults.

"I can do whatever you want, just say…," Varuq never got to finish her sentence. A husk blade struck from behind and her decapitated head rolled down from the altar a mere second later. Truth to be told, Windsong felt a brink of regret at her death. He could always use more followers, much like his Master.

"I never like that bitch," Feharuln commented as he trained his blade towards Windsong.

"Neither do I," Windsong agreed.

"You should have killed her much sooner."

Windsong nodded. "Then that shall be another aspect in which you have surpassed me."

The duel resumed - without any follower left, it was truly a duel between two most powerful individuals on board the Eternity of Torment. Feharuln was faster and more adept with his blade. Once the chief of the accounting department, Feharuln honed himself in the art of combat after he dreamed of becoming the next Archon following Slavara's downfall. Additionally, strong doses of Accelerai, Adrenalight and Hypex beyond what was recommended also helped. The withdrawal would take his life for sure, but Feharuln was doubtful if he would live to experience such pleasurable death. The Archon's blows usually came faster and greater in quantity. Windsong, on the other hand, possessed an impenetrable defence. With sword and shield and heavy armour, he stopped every attack in its track.

Sparks of lightning and distorted energies flew as mighty wargears clashed. As the fighting elsewhere in the chamber died down with the deaths of almost all combatants and the annihilation of one side, the duel became the only conflict left.

The impasse was broken when Feharuln, focusing all his strength onto a single blow after his opponent over-extended and missed his attack in a rather amateurish manner, knocked away Windsong's sword to the other side of the chamber. For one glorious moment, the current Archon thought he had done the impossible and had bested his successor. For one tiny fracture of a moment, Feharuln felt a surge of confidence surging through his veins. All this renewed hope was dashed as Windsong, now with one free hand, pulled a fist and whammed it into his face. The blow carried inhuman vigour and sent Feharuln flying to the opposite wall, thirty meters away.

"You fought well," said Windsong as he picked up his fallen weapon and approached the downed foe. "It has been an honour fighting you. A greater honour, even, to be your slayer."

"Spare me your half-hearted compliments and get over with it," Feharuln grunted. His body was no longer responding, not that he stood any chance if it did. The Archon let it go and found some relaxation in his final moments.

"Any last word?" Windsong asked. It was not a rhetoric question.

"Tell Levantia," the Archon replied. "Tell him this for me."

* * *

No more guns were fired and no more swords and knives swung. Silence, at long last. Instead of relief, Levantia was racked with guilt as he sat next to Darelyn who was fighting the most severe, and probably the last, battle of her life. A rift divided her body where the blade of the Klaivex cut into her. The wound was not deep enough to cause significant harm to her organs, but the size and severity of it meant a great deal of external bleeding. No matter how he tried, he could not stem it. If an Imperial Guardsman received such critical injury, he would be given a mercy kill immediately.

"Come on, come on, stay with me," Levantia urged. Blood already covered both his hands, much of his armour and most of his face, both from the Klaivex who just imploded earlier and from Darelyn. The wounds he suffered were superficial, to say the least. Not all of his men were so fortunate, however. In fact, all but three of them made it through the Incubi onslaught.

There was Bruno, either too resilient or too lucky to die. A deep cut ripped through his torso. Had Bruno had a body like ninety-nine percent of non-Astartes humans, he would have been chopped in half surely by that. One of his arms was gone and he lied on a massive pool of blood. At first, Levantia wondered how someone could have survived after losing so much of their vital liquid, but close observation revealed it was not all his. A dead Incubus was crushed beneath his weight and Levantia could not help but pity the poor xeno. Out of all the nasty ways to die in this hostile galaxy, beneath three hundred pounds of foul-smelling muscles was somewhere at the top.

Yanarr had survived as well. He was too competent to die. Like Levantia, he had come out with only minor injuries and was now trying to help Bruno.

A human going everything he could so that a Dark Eldar could live and vice versa. These scenes would seem ludicrous, if not outright heretical by the standards of both humans and Dark Eldar. Yet, they were exactly what was happening right now, on board the Eternity of Torment.

Felia lived still, though she had exhausted her power and once again unconscious.

Levantia could not feel any relief in seeing his two closest friends and one of his lovers had pulled through, for the number of those who did not was depressing. Looking at all the dead human and Dark Eldar rebels, men who trusted him to lead them to freedom, Levantia had no one but himself to blame. He promised them, he inspired them, he gave them hope, and now he had let them all down.

Not even Darelyn he could save.

"P-please," Darelyn begged, blood spurting from her mouth as she desperately tried to speak. Seeing Darelyn in such state sent a dagger to Levantia's soul. They had been through so much together. For a long time, she was the only Dark Eldar who he could communicate with without the fear of whips or insults, the one who stirred up his inspiration to befriend with the sadistic xenos in the first place. They saved each other lives in the battle against the Tyranids and Levantia had even had to man-fight her not-so-boyfriend in a murder duel to earn his right to be her other half. It could not end like this. "Do-don't l-leave me. I don't w-want to die."

What could Levantia have done? Tell her everything was going to be all right, even though it was not? Comfort her by talking about some subjects that would distract her from the pain and death?

Levantia had had enough with lying. It had to stop NOW.

"I….I am….sorry," Levantia stuttered. Tears already covered his face, washing away some of the blood. "I…I…"

"I am sorry," said the White Hero next to him. "But I am afraid this is your time."

A quick glance back to the altar confirmed to Levantia that Feharuln was dead. For a being so manipulative, so cruel, so vicious, and constantly under pressure, the Archon's death was peaceful.

"Please help her," Levantia pleaded. "Use your psychic power, your medical expertise, your anything. Please, I cannot lose her."

"There is a limit as to what I can do," said White Hero sadly. "One cannot lift the sky with his two hands."

"I-I do not want to…"

"I will give you three options," the White Hero said. "Leave her be and allow her soul to be devoured by Slaanesh." At this point, Levantia could no find it strange that the White Hero, being an Eldar or part Eldar, would refer to Slaanesh by its name, rather than She-Who-Thirsts like the rest of the Dark Eldar. Let me deliver the killing blow and her spirit shall be claimed by the Master. I assure you, the Master is more lenient than the Prince of Pleasure. Or, we can do this." He produced a piece of gemstone from his pocket. It did not take long for Levantia to realise it was a spirit stone, despite him never seeing one, including Felia's. "She will not hear, see, or feel anything. She will not speak to anyone. She will not be accepted by the Infinity Circus. But her soul lives on, and with it, part of her consciousness. The second option is what I would have gone for, but the decision is yours."

Levantia was torn. He did not want to make any of these decisions. All of his training, indoctrination and experience through dozens of engagements had not prepared him for this. He wanted her to live. He wanted to be with her, to have a happy ending with her and Felia.

But a decision had to be made, and to delay that was also choosing the worst outcome. Without further hesitation, he took the spirit stone from the White Hero.

"Carlos," Darelyn said for the last time.

"I am here," he coaxed. "I will never leave you." And rammed a knife through her heart. Darelyn shuddered and laid still, the gem in Levantia's hand starting to glow with dark purple light. Like Feharuln, she looked peaceful.

Ironic, Levantia thought. In the beginning, he swore to be the one to kill Darelyn once he got out, so that she would remain naive and innocent till the end. A quick, merciless death, out of love. Now that she was no longer naive nor innocent but he was free, it broke his heart to have to conduct what he, at a time, regarded as an Imperial oath but no longer saw as anything anymore.

"Feharuln wanted me to send you a message from him," said the White Hero. "He wishes you to live forever."

Just like Crox did.

"Thank you," said Levantia. A less rational person might have ranted and slandered at the White Hero for his disastrous involvement. If he had not been here, then none of these would have happened, Darelyn, Feharuln, Dividus and many others Levantia cared about would not have died. He was so perfect, so powerful, so out of place. And the fact that after all the losses Levantia suffered, the White Hero still gained from this venture made him less than pleased.

But Levantia had decided to be rational for the sake of the ones he loves still living. Life in the Kabal was like sitting on a timed bomb without knowing when it was going to go off. No matter how he convinced himself, Levantia knew it could not go on forever. To follow the White Hero was the only release from it, even if it cost him dearly. Besides, most of the deaths were not of the White Hero's faults, but rather Levantia's own poor decisions and capabilities as a leader.

All in all, Levantia did not wish to make any more comment regarding this. What's done was done.

It took a while to settle. The White Hero picked up his trinkets, or treasures, or whatever items Levantia had not the least interest in. Yanarr, with the help of Levantia and the White Hero, managed to stabilise Bruno. The White Hero cauterised his wounds using Pyromancy. Finally, Levantia, still holding on to Darelyn's spirit stone as well as the relic entrusted to him by Crox, picked up the sleeping beauty that was Felia and they were good to go.

Except one question, how? There was no way that teleporter could fit five people, could it?

"I have to warn you beforehand," said the White Hero. "Should there be the chance that we end up somewhere in space, my suit would allow me to survive indefinitely. As for you, well it would be a real shame."

"Shut the fuck up and get us out of here," Bruno growled.

"I reluctantly agree with this oversized Mon'keigh," Yanarr added as he exerted to keep Bruno up his feet.

"This is not the best time for that, my lord," said Levantia. He had no energy for humour in him, given what had happened. The weight of what he was carrying was becoming unbearable.

"All right then," the White Hero declared, disappointed. "We go. Opening the Gate of Infinity."

* * *

As explosions rippled across the Eternity of Torment like a enlarging supernova , one thing was certain, and that was death. They consumed the slave pens, the corpse hold, the Haemonculus's laboratory. They obliterated hallways and arenas adorned with trophies of past conquests. They undid everything the Kabal of the Shadow Talon had been managing for thousands of years.

For the most radical Dark Eldar philosophers, this was equality. Halfborns and Trueborns, Archon and crew, captors and slaves all died in the same way. All forever forgotten.

Next to the dying ship, the crew of its escorts looked in dismay at the destruction they had no idea what was the cause, one they could do anything to prevent. They knew the Kabal was finished and their very home would either fall to a new civil war until a new leader emerged or be annexed by another Kabal. Whichever the case, they had lost.

And so, the end came.

* * *

**_Author's note: The next chapter will be the epilogue to conclude this story, as well as clearing out any plot hole I may have. If you spot any, please notify me and I will try my best to either explain or remedy. It has been a pleasure writing this for you guys and now the first arc had finally ended. The next arc will depend on the outcome of the Fall of Cadia and potentially the End of Warhammer 40k._**

**_I am quite excited for the story progression. However, I really hope that this will only be the end of the Imperium, not of the Warhammer 40k universe as a whole, and that the 42nd millennium will still be filled with wars between many factions. Once the Imperium is dead, another faction would arise and lead humanity to ultimate victory against Chaos. I do not want races like Tau or Tyranids who have been around for a few centuries to end. I want them to be fleshed out more before killed off. And I want the factions to be killed off one by one, not all at once like that lazy mess that is Warhammer Fantasy End Time. If GW cannot do so, then they are either too lazy or too incompetent. _**

**_Saw the Orks on Dawn of war 3. Gorgutz is just...no. Why is he Bad Moon instead of Evil Sunz? Why is his voice so deep? Nevertheless, the rumour that there are 16 missions gives me hope. What I think is that there will be five missions for each faction and then one final mission where you get to play as all 3 factions against a common threat, maybe Necron or Chaos._**

**_I have planned for the plot for many months before actually writing it, and it took me 2 years to get this far. Here are some original concepts that did not go through as I wrote this story:_**

**_\- The story was first planned to go from the perspective of an Elar Farseer who is captured by the Dark Eldar. During her captivity, she gets help from a human and falls for him. By the time she is rescued, her view of the human race improves. This did not go through because there is not enough potential for smut._**

**_\- The human who the Farseer falls in love with was supposed to die in the original concept. He accepts death, however, claiming he dies in freedom, not slavery. However, I found it to be rather dull and not Warhammer 40k-ish enough, so I explore more about his dark side._**

**_\- The White Hero makes more references to Kaldor Draigo, as well as Eliphas when he tries to open the portal._**


	23. Chapter 23: Resolution

In a flash of light, the five of them appeared. The fact no one suffered from missing body parts or daemonic possession was a boon, knowing how dangerous it was to travel the Immaterium without proper shielding devices. Teleportation using psychic power was discouraged among the high ranking members of the Astropathica and outright punishable by death among lesser psykers. While seemingly innocuous, the risk was too high and the human mind, no matter how powerful or how precise, could not match the sophisticated creations of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and still these devices would occasionally backfire.

Judging from the layout of the chamber he had arrived at, Levantia could safely assume he had been teleported to another ship, though this one seemed to be the exact opposite of the Eternity of Torment. The walls were white and smooth, almost plain-looking compared to the macabre designs of the interior of the previous ship he had been travelling. What few decorations were abstract, a floating cube whose colour changed from red to blue to yellow and back to red, water that flowed upwards out in the open, several drawings resembling the result of a food fight. The air was clean and serene. As a keen observer, Levantia could appreciate the artistry of this place.

But he did not like it. Not his taste.

Not grimdark enough.

If he had brought some decapitated heads of those Dark Eldar from earlier, maybe….

"Where in the name of Throne is this place?" Bruno wowed, engrossed in his wondrous surroundings.

"Welcome to the Wing of Fenix," the White Hero announced. The name was uncannily familiar. Levantia half-remembered Fenix was a world that supposedly an order of Exterminatus was declared after the Astartes Chapter controlling it was found guilty of treason and heresy, but when the Imperial Navy under the Inquisition arrive, the entire planet disappeared without a trace. Considering the White Hero already bore icons belonging to another renegade Space Marine Chapter, despite not being a Space Marine himself, Levantia was not surprised they were related. For now, he would stay his curiosity until he knew more about the man he blindly worshipped for the last twenty years. "Make yourself at home. And by that, I mean make yourself at MY home. If anything is found broken, missing, chaotically tainted or damaged beyond repair, the bill will be drafted to you for the rest of your life, and perhaps your next of kin as well depending on how expensive they are."

The White Hero's bad taste in humour was getting irritating, not that Levantia could get irritated with him.

"And just when I was getting to like this guy," Bruno grumbled. For someone who just lost his arm and taken a severe cut to the chest, he seemed awfully fine, as in he stood and spoke and acted like an asshole, unlike ninety-nine percent humanity who would either die or be impaired for the rest of their life from that.

"My lord," Levantia urged. "Now is not the time. The Farseer is incapacitated and he is grievously injured. May I ask we could use the medical facility."

"I am tired," Yanarr complained. "You don't know how strenuous it was patching up this piece of Mon'keigh meat. I want some rest, alone. If you have any room like that, give it to me."

"Of course," said the White Hero as he produced two sets of keys, each looking like a round-shaped stone with the double fish painted on. He handed one to Levantia and the other to Yanarr. "They will lead you to your personal quarter. Rest well, for, through devotion, loyalty and display of strength, you have more than earned it."

"What about me?" Bruno demanded.

"YOU are coming with me to the infirmary," said the White Hero. "Your bleeding has stopped and the danger to your life passed for now, but your injuries are not to be taken lightly. Those need some proper fixing-up, and the sooner we do it, the fewer permanent adverse effects are you at risk of."

"Oh, come on," Bruno insisted.

"No."

"Please."

"No."

"Pretty please."

"This is for your own good, and my honour."

"We'll split the profit fifty - fifty if you let me…"

"You pay me back first before getting indebted to someone else," Levantia admonished. He turned to the White Hero and indicated the unconscious Eldar on his shoulder, asking, "What about her? Can you do anything to help?"

"Not now," said the White Hero. "Her conditions are more salvageable and less time-binding. I promise I will work on her once I am done with him."

"Right," Levantia agreed. This was not the time for bias and Bruno did look like he required immediate attention, not matter how he denied it. There were so many other questions that Levantia wanted to ask, but now was not the time. Felia needed him as much as Bruno needed the White Hero. For now, the whole of his body, mind and spirit was with her.

With that, the group split.

* * *

Led by the key's emitted light to his assigned quarter, Levantia was surprised to see how spacious it was. It was three times as large as the room he had been staying on the Eternity of Torment and at least eight times as large as the one he had been forced to share with his Tempestus Scion comrades during his travel to Danark on a carrier ship whose captain had a certain disdain for the so-called "glory boys". There was also a remarkable amount of furniture which included a bed that would fit two people, a wardrobe, a working desk, a book rack with actual books on and some lamps. Many of these were of human origin, which should look out of place on an Eldar ship, but the way they were organised and presented was impeccable that they fit right it.

Quickly, Levantia placed down Felia on the bed.

"Car-los," came Felia's tiny voice.

"We are safe now," Levantia assured her. "How do you feel right now."

"Cannot…breath. These clothes…are choking me." That seemed to be given, seeing how tight they were. In fact, Levantia was pretty sure these were bondage suits renovated to something more elegant and less eye-catching without lessening its purpose.

"I will get you out," said Levantia as he moved on to removing her clothes. The gloves were easy to take off, but the rest looked like they had been attached to Felia in some incomprehensible manner. There were no buttons or zipper, and the alien fabric proved both durable and compressed. Out of option, Levantia pulled out a knife and said, "Try to hold still."

Wielding his weapon cautiously, Levantia cut off the fabric to allow Felia some breath. To ruin such elegant costume was deplorable, but he was certain this was the only way and Felia's very survival might depend on this.

"Darelyn," said Felia weakly, her stiff breathing exploded into rushed gasps after the fabric clinging to her throat was removed. "She is…she is…"

Levantia fought back the tears, only to realise his eyes and cheeks were red without him knowing. Darelyn was the first Dark Eldar he could trust, first alien even. She was the first of many and the inception of his concept of seeing xenos equally to humans. After all the development between them, all the time they spent together, now she was gone forever.

"She is dead," Levantia replied with as much consolidation as he could muster.

To his surprise, the Farseer looked clearly disturbed and saddened by the confirmation. To his knowledge, they had been fighting like cat and dog since the moment they met. For quite some time, Levantia had been worried about how to construct his triangle relationship without anyone biting each other in the ass, only to find it finished right before his eyes one day. What had made the change in their relationship to the point Felia had such reverence for the Dark Eldar must have taken place while he was being treated by Crox after his duel. Of course, the Archon just had to ruin it.

"I sensed it," Felia proclaimed. "I felt the echo of her death approach, the screaming of her soul as it departs from the body. Oh, by the gods, have I gone mad?" Her voice became increasingly panicky. "Has the ordeal corrupted my mind in some way I cannot discern? Because I can still feel her presence inside this very room."

Levantia produced the spirit stone from his pocket. "Her spirit has not left this plane. She shall worry about She-Who-Thirsts no longer."

Felia looked elated at first, but her mood dropped when she looked closer and read the inscription on it. "This…is an atrocity."

Levantia's heart sank. "W-why?"

"This spirit stone belongs to another Eldar," explained Felia. "They came from Craftworld Alaitoc, but for whatever reason chose to abandon their sanctuary. The connection to them from this spirit stone is shattered, but fragments of it remain. They probably died without their spirit ever rejoining their ancestors within the Infinity Circuit."

Levantia pondered. With how the White Hero turned out to be, there was little doubt he killed the spirit stone's previous owner and took it from him afterwards as a spoil. No matter how he felt for the Craftworld Eldar in general and not just Felia, he found nothing to feel disturbed or unsettled about this. Levantia had absolute faith in the White Hero's fairness and self-control; whoever got killed probably deserved it, a low-life corsair who unwittingly left his home to annoy other species, only to find their well-deserved death.

Reckoning what the White Hero said earlier about the three options he could choose regarding the fate of Darelyn, Levantia realised the spirit of whoever previously owned this spirit stone must have already been claimed by the White Hero's master. Speaking of whom, Levantia had a good idea regarding the actual identity of this deity out of the inquisitorial documents his clearance level allowed him access to. The only thing left to make sure was to confront this with the White Hero himself.

But now was not the time.

"I am sorry," Felia apologised. "The words slipped my mouth. I should not have brought that irrelevant subject up. I was so used to speaking what I have in mind that I am insensitive in situations like this."

"That is fine," Levantia consoled her. "I am not offended by it. By the end of it, you were closer to her than what we started with. You bonded with her while I was not around, is that right?"

Felia explained how Darelyn had been taking care of her during Levantia's leave and how she ultimately kicked some sense into the Farseer albeit with some rather unconventional method (at least for anyone besides the Dark Eldar). Hearing it made Levantia even more depressed. Darelyn, like Levantia, was willing to make the threesome work, and she pulled her own weight into making Felia part of it. She did it not only for Levantia but herself and Felia so that the three of them could finally be together. But in the end, she was the one who got left behind.

"This is all my fault," the Farseer began tearing up. "My vision failed me. What is the power to see the future good for if one was so powerless to change its outcome?"

"What do you mean your vision?" Levantia asked. Then, he realised there was still one mystery he had yet to solve: why Felia agreed to help the Archon expose the intruder, but in the end failed. Looking at the way the White Hero disregarded her, it was unlikely he had done anything before to ruin her divination. "Are you saying that…?"

"I knew about the coming of the so-called hero, but I chose to withhold such information from the Archon," Felia confirmed. "I did it because otherwise you would have stayed loyal to the Archon. And then he would dispatch you to fight off the intruder. I thought your loyalty would be your downfall. How wrong was I."

The Farseer disclosed to Levantia how Darelyn told her the truth about her purpose on the Eternity of Torment. Prior to his connection to the intruder being made known, both women were worried that he was too close to the Archon and that might lead to his death at the hand of the White Hero. And so, Felia decided to take the fall to make sure Levantia would not follow the Archon to the grave.

Levantia was shocked to know the truth. Had she revealed about the White Hero, the end result for him would have been the same, for no matter how faithful he was to the Archon, there was no way he could bring himself to fight against his very idol who had, in fact, come to save him. That and the fact Darelyn was working for the White Hero would ensure his change of heart. If that had been the case, Felia would not have suffered so much, but there was no telling whether Darelyn could have been saved. Sure, the Farseer would be more able to save her from the Klaivex, but there were a plethora of things that might happen.

Besides, if the Archon had never betrayed him, Levantia would have been much more depressed by his death, even if it was the White Hero's doing.

The possibilities were…unfathomable. Which was why if that bit was the only thing the past that could have been changed, Levantia was not inclined towards it.

If only they had told him about the White Hero in the first place, though. That would have changed everything.

"It is not your fault," said Levantia.

"I am a Farseer," Felia hissed. "If I cannot put my gift to good use, then what am I? You did so much for me. I only wanted to pay you back, but in the process, I overlooked so many other important aspects of the real situation. I let myself be humiliated and tormented because I believed I was saving you, not knowing the truth all along."

"No," Levantia cut in. "Many things should have been done, but they were not. That is how destiny works. You can never know what to expect, and every time you look back, you can see nothing but regrets." It felt so weird for a human to be preaching an Eldar about destiny, but Levantia was certain with every word that came out. "I did not want her to die. I thought I could protect her with my strength. In the end, nothing worked the way I wanted. But that is the true nature of this universe, that we are all a small part of it and that our fates are at the whim of its motion. This is not some fairy tale where everybody lives happily forever. This is the reality."

A moment of silence between the two of them passed before Felia continued, "What are you going to do from now?"

Levantia sighed. "Move forward I guess. The Emperor and the Archon are not my objects of admiration out of my free will, but through indoctrination and threats of punishment. Such faiths are flimsy, and as soon as the enforcement ceases, things go back to the way it was. The White Hero is different, however."

"How do you know? You saw what he did, turning against all those Druchii he once called allies. He allowed his loyal informant to perish right before your eyes. How could someone like that be trustworthy?"

Levantia shrugged. "Intuition. I have been saved by him not once but twice. We all own our lives to him. Without him, we would never have escaped from that hell hole."

"And Darelyn?" Felia pressed. "She trusted him. Look at what happened to her."

"It could not be helped," said Levantia. Though saddened by the deaths of so many of his loved ones, he still considered it irrational to put the blame on anyone for their involvement alone. The Archon and his lackeys were at fault because they carried out the deeds. Levantia was at fault because of his false promise. Felia was at fault because of…complicated reasons. But not the White Hero, nor Bruno and Yanarr. "No force in this universe is almighty. Not the Emperor of Man and not the Gods of Chaos. The White Hero gave his best, and I appreciate him for what his efforts were put into. I know for sure he will never betray me nor harm me nor take advantage of me in any way. That is someone I will follow till the very end. I hope you can understand that."

"And I hope you will not regret," said Felia, accepting the fact her lover was about to adopt a whole new religion neither of them had many clues about other than Levantia's beliefs.

"I will not," Levantia assured. He wiped away his tears and turned back to more pressing matters. "But for now, what I am going to do is to ensure maximum respiratory capability from you."

Levantia went back to releasing Felia from her mobile prison. Cutting away the suit proved more challenging than Levantia expected. His initial impression that it had firmly embedded in her skin was a clear underestimation; the fact was that it had replaced her skin altogether. There was no denying it now: this was the product of evil, made with malice and the embodiment of all things despicable. Only one species in the entire galaxy was capable of creating it, and Levantia was glad he had renounced all his association with them.

"Arghhhh. Urgh!" If the work was not already tedious enough, Felia's sensual moans only helped to lessened Levantia's sanity further, much like how she reacted when he tried to pry the fragment from her foot. Why the one who was a Farseer, out of all the possible Eldar occupations/paths, always gave him such trouble all the time was a question Levantia was not sure he could ever find the answer. If this had become a habit of her, then it was time Levantia took some drastic measures, and the Dark Eldar more then gave him the inspiration to.

The blade Levantia possessed was surprisingly effective for its jagged-looking edge. Like any weapon manufactured by the Dark Eldar, this was capable of inflicting injuries so surgically precise the enemy would not realise they had them until it was all too late. While lacking the skill and sadistic tendency to achieve its full potential, Levantia did his job like a tailor, or anti-tailor in this case. With every article removed, Felia's whines grew huskier and more severe, her exposed skin as red as a cooked lobster. Her toes and fingers were swollen. Felia was right. Being a Farseer did not suit her, fan service did. Eventually, all pieces of those hideous garments came out.

Except one.

This thing stood out apart from the others. Never before had Levantia felt so distubed by an object, as if his life force was being sucked away just by looking at it, and that was saying a lot given all the foul Chaos and Necron artefacts he had encountered. It so reeked with malevolence that even the purest Imperial Saint would have to turn away in disgust.

The panties.

Levantia stopped for a moment to consider his options as to what to do with this. He felt like someone who was chewing a jawbreaker, only to find there was a rock inside. The panties were to be the greatest obstacle yet, having firmly gotten a hold on the Farseer's crotch and looking like it had become constituent to her. Yet, the damage was evident with the panties squeezing into Felia's womanhood in a manner similar to an Ork squeezing a hugely oversized Squig into his standard oversized mouth.

"How…bad it is?" Felia asked sheepishly.

"Dreadful," replied Levantia frankly. Between the entire universe getting swallowed by Chaos and spending twenty years surrounded by tentacle hentai, there were definitely worst things out there that could come true in his lifetime (Levantia prayed it was not the latter). But still, this was something he found himself unprepared to face.

There was no backing off now. He would do it. Just as the White Hero granted him his freedom, so too would he grant Felia's hers.

And so he worked on it. Using the knife, using his teeth, using what vile knowledge he could get out of the grimoire Crox had entrusted him with. After many trial and error attempts, eliciting a crescendo of lewd responses from Felia, he finally did it. He had defeated the Dark Eldar creation. Next, he would face the tentacle hentai.

But that was for another day. Right now, looking at the fully naked form of the Farseer, Levantia found his heart beating at an incredible rate as though it was going to burst out of his chest and take the next train to la-la land. Felia caught his gaze and blushed. Her face, which was the only part of her body escaping vandalism from the suit, turned the same colour as the rest of her body. If Khorne were in this room, he might have mistaken her for his bride.

"Well, I guess that is all," said Levantia nervously. The Eldar was in such a state of shock and embarrassment that she could not utter a single intelligible word. Levantia almost lost his control at that point. He wanted to make her suffer and sneer upon her pain, to make her kneel down and beg like a proud and arrogant creature she was.

It was only with tremendous effort that Levantia was able to prevent the Dark Eldar part of his brain from doing anything every other part would register as regrettable later. Yet, with all the beauty and generosity laid bare before him, inaction was a crime in itself.

Levantia hoped she was ready for this, for his method had changed greatly since they had a moment together like this. Darelyn taught him a lot, and Crox gave him a few good advice on how to make a sexual relationship work…totally in his favour. In honour of their deeds in life, Levantia would follow it.

As he mentally prepared himself for what would happen next, Levantia could hazily hear a faint voice whispering inside his head. It could be Felia using her psychic power to tell him that she was not ready for this, that she would rather he did it at another time when he had fully recovered. It could be his former person, full of faith and indoctrination, denouncing him for what kind of monster he had become. It could be the Big E himself scolding his heretical intent which went not only against the Imperial Creed, but the human race (and perhaps the Eldar race) as a whole.

It mattered not. Levantia knew better to follow an unidentified voice when this was what his very heart urged him to.

And so he began.

The cute pair of feet were the first target. It only took Levantia a minute to tear down Felia's defence and turn her into a laughing mess. Her melodic distressed voice was music to his ears.

The pointy ears were next, caressed by Levantia's fingers and tongue. At this point, Felia looked like a piece of sausage that had forsaken its will to live.

Levantia kissed her passionately and forcefully. The Farseer could not refuse even if she wanted to.

Not allow his prey any respite, Levantia explored the entity of her body with the thoughtfulness of an artist. Every part of her was touched and played with, except for the cradle of ultimate damnation which he saved for last. Helpless against the assault, Felia could only moan and whimper.

Levantia went back to the feet, and another stream of guffawing ensued. The Tempestus Scions' role in battle was to attack the enemy where they were weakest and gain the most out of it. Even if that mean hitting a place that had already been ravaged.

And finally, with his prey thoroughly worn down, Levantia moved down to the region between her legs and delivered the killing blow.

* * *

Levantia had never had such good sleep in his life. Perhaps it was because, for the first time, he was asleep in a proper bed, not the ground nor the standard Imperial Guard sleeping position nor one of those Dark Eldar weird things that bounced back twice as hard every time its occupants applied sudden pressure. Perhaps it was because Felia was next to him, as nude as the day she was born and also sleeping soundly. Or perhaps his overall mood was simply elated at his freedom and the fact the hero from his childhood had personally come to save him.

The losses incurred were deplorable but he was determined to move forward. A seasoned soldier, he was accustomed to the death the ones he cared so deeply for. Looking back would not help, and there were so many ways he could be of use to a greater cause thanks to his new physique and the skills he acquired from his stay with the Dark Eldar. The injuries he sustained during the previous battle were minor flesh wounds, and it also appeared that his regenerative rate had increased since Crox had made the modification.

Getting out of bed without waking up the sleeping beauty, Levantia went to take a bath. It felt wonderful, the hot water cascading his body and washing away all the filth he accumulated over the course of his imprisonment.

After cleaning himself, Levantia walked to the wardrobe to get dressed. While he did not dislike the Kaballite Armour which provided superior dexterity at the cost of defence to its wearing, having it on outside combat was still uncomfortable at best and an impediment to his everyday life at worst. Besides, that armour was getting worn down from the numerous battles it had been through without proper maintenance in between anyway.

The insignia on the wardrobe looked like it belonged to some military organisation, though Levantia was not sure what that was or even if they were part of the Astra Militarum or not. Inside it were numerous sets of blue and white uniform, each neatly place and complete with boots, trouser, shirt, vest coat and hat. A drawer below contained military-class underwear for males. They did not look like standard Imperial Guard stuff, but Levantia could not complain. Putting on a set with the designation of Lieutenant, Levantia felt like it had been a lifetime since he last fought in the name of the Emperor, even though it had been only a few months.

Hungry, Levantia looked around the room for anything to eat. He found nothing except a menu with a variety of meal orders written in Low Gothic on one side and what he presumed to be Eldar Lexicon on the others. Some of the names were familiar enough, but others were purely rhetoric and Emperor knew what they actually contain, let alone taste like.

"Wallace's Triumph," Levantia muttered sarcastically. "It would be nice to have one of those."

The next thing that happened, a dish appeared right before him, consisting of what looked like a severed Ork arm coated in brown sauce and some vegetables. Closer inspection showed it was, indeed, an Ork arm. Levantia reckoned Felia said about the Craftworld having a mind of its own and providing its citizens' needs automatically. Given the White Hero's heritage, despite whether he was really an Eldar or not remained a mystery as much as where the Emperor was, the ship he was on was probably a mini-version of an Eldar Craftworld.

Having his genuine meal, albeit unexpected food, for the first time since years, Levantia wondered what of the rest of the ship. The Wing of Fenix was not simply a whole new environment; it undoubtedly contained many elements Levantia had never seen before. As a result, just like the Eternity of Torment, there were many things he wanted to observe, discover and make his own deductions and half-guesses out of pure pleasure. But alas, he was loathed to leave Felia on her own, even when she was sleeping.

And so, Levantia grabbed a book from the shelf and started to read. All the books were military, which was fine because Levantia had always wanted to further his pursuit of knowledge ever since his study was cut short due to graduation to field combat.

After a few minutes, Levantia could hear some knocks on the door. Opening it revealed none other than the White Hero, now without his armour and donning a long robe that Levantia assumed was the civilian costume for the Eldar. Unlike the one Felia used to have, a present from her late father until it was completely ruined, this one looked rather plain with not many motifs and only two colours black and white.

"Good afternoon," said the White Hero. "I hope your stay has been a pleasant one."

"It is," said Levantia. "My gratitude for all of your provisions. We are in your debt."

"No need," said the White Hero. "May I come in for a little chat? Typically I would invite you somewhere else, but my schedule is closed, and you seem reluctant to leave this room when she is here. There must be many questions you want to be answered."

"There are," Levantia confirmed. He gestured the White Hero to come in. "Please."

The White Hero explained it all without fail, how he was first contacted and came to save Darelyn who was a princess of a noble family on the run after her father was assassinated by rivals. The lord had sheltered Darelyn her entire life so that she could be the daughter that would take care of him, literally, in his old age. After being rescued and appalled by her discovery of the true nature of her race, Darelyn wished to become a citizen of the White Hero's Craftworld, but that would be impossible due to its strict immigration policy. For a Dark Eldar to be admitted, they must spend years performing dangerous, if not suicidal, tasks to earn their place, much like the Imperial Guard penal battalion. Her only chance was White Hero's special recommendation, but in order to get that, she had no choice but to become his spy on the Kabal of Shadow Talon. In the end, Darelyn accepted this deal knowing she would not set foot on Commorragh ever again and that the White Hero would train her to become stronger.

In one word, the White Hero used Darelyn like an asset. No different to how all of Levantia's commanders had been using him so far.

"I am terribly sorry for your lost," said the White Hero. "Darelyn was vital to the success of the operation and I, too, am regretful that she did not make it. All of your friends too. I made the promise that they would all live through it, but in the end, I failed. I have no intention to hide or diminish my fault in this. If I had been more careful when assessing the situation, or less engrossed in my personal quarry, more lives should have been saved."

"It is not your fault," said Levantia firmly. In his mind, it was already established who were to blame for what happened, and neither Felia nor the White Hero belonged to the list, no matter how much they admitted. "You gave your best. We all gave our best. It was not enough to win the battle against fate itself. It is pointless to feel guilty over it."

"That is an interesting perspective," the White Hero remarked. "Very progressive. You really are one of a kind, are you not, Carlos Levantia?"

That was exactly what everyone had been telling him the whole time, him being the special one that could not be categorised into any existing class. And Levantia was proud of that. "What about you?" he asked. "Are you not just like that? I get it you are not Eldar, at least not completely Eldar. So what are you?"

"A hybrid," the White Hero replied tersely.

Levantia was not taken back by the revelation. While he looked almost entirely like an Eldar, the White Hero possessed many characteristics pertaining to humans, both genetic and personal. "Is that possible?"

The White Hero shrugged. "I do not know. My birth was exceptional. My mother was an Eldar and my father a general of the Mordian Iron Guards. She delivered me to any Eldar mother delivering her baby, and then by brother as well. Ever since, no duplications of this attempt at cross-breeding were successful, but I believe it is mainly due to the unclean goals they were carried out with. Mother and father came together out of pure love, nothing more. It is their love that caused a miracle to happen."

"Indeed," said Levantia. Hearing so made him more convinced that his relationship with Felia would not come to a dead end and that a biological offspring may not be too far-fetched, regardless the apparent fact it would be more Eldar than human. He remembered what the Wrack said about a baby between him and Darelyn, so either he knew cross-breeding was entirely possible or the Dark Eldar could make it happen. With the genuine love he shared with Felia and this body created by the Eldar, Levantia was certain he would have a successor, assuming he did not die in combat before that. "But I doubt everyone in the Imperium will receive this news in the same manner. Not all factions within it will take this without bigotry blinding their judgement and zealotry guiding their actions. If one instance can happen, there is bound to be more, and some will do everything to prevent or induce it."

"The same can be said for the Eldar," said the White Hero. "Some say I am a blessing to both races while others denounce me as a half-breed abomination, a stain to the Eldar gene-pool. I care not what they say. I had a happy childhood and as long I am doing my part in the Restoration, my questionable birth circumstance is secondary. The Restoration has always been all I am dedicated to."

"Restoration?" asked Levantia. "You mean the Eldar Empire?"

The White Hero shook his head. "In a way, the Eldar will find their salvation in this, but the Restoration is much more than that. I am talking about peace and order in the galaxy. The final defeat of the Chaos Gods and the Necrontyr. The containment of the Orks and Tyranids. Ever race living in harmony and thriving, instead of opposing, in the presence of one another. The Master has returned and his plan in motion. While I might not live to see this outcome, I will gladly give everything for it."

During his training as a Tempestus Scion, Levantia was exposed to many horrifying truths about what lied beyond the veil, the madness and abasement that dwelled in their and how they perverted the weak and unsuspecting minds. His clearance level allowed him knowledge to the names of the Dark Gods of Chaos: Khorne, Tzeentch, Nurgle and Slaanesh. But there was one more. The records were sketchy at best, but the fact at least one Space Marine Chapter had succumbed to this influence could not be ignored so easily. A Chaos God whose existence was to bring the end to all other Ruinous Powers.

"The Master you serve," said Levantia. "Are you talking about Malal?"

"Malal the Renegade God is but one of the many guises He had adopted over the years," said the White Hero, chuckling. "As his faithful followers, we refer to him as Craddol the Master of Order, Brightest Star, Twin-dragon and First Primordial Truth. Before there were Nurgle and Khorne, before the names of Tzeentch and Slaanesh were uttered by a living being, before the Eldar pantheons were born and before Gork and Mork started their first Craddol was holding the galaxy in his palm as per the Old Ones' willing. Then came the Star Gods and their wretched servants, the Necrontyr. The War of Haven saw an end to His reign and many races that worshipped him. Craddol went into hiding, only to return when the galaxy needs him again, such as right now."

"I am not sure about adopting a new religion yet," Levantia said. "No offence to your Master, though. However, I will need some time to get used to the fact there is a power in existence more divine than the Emperor himself, one that could finally put a permanent end to Chaos where the Emperor had failed."

"Do not say that," the White Hero admonished. "Praise the Emperor to your heart's content, for his holiness is every bit as real as the Imperial Creed preaches you."

"The Emperor disappeared from the Golden Throne centuries ago when Holy Terra was sacked by Abaddon," said Levantia. It was unbecoming of him to blaspheme the Emperor, but the truth was still that, and it was not like there was any priest or commissar around to castigate him for saying so. "How do you know he is still around?"

"Trust me," said the White Hero cordially. He grabbed at Levantia's shoulder, which almost made him finch. Even now, Levantia could not accept the fact one of the most powerful creatures in the galaxy was greeting him like a friend. "I have seen it myself. I was doubtful at first, but now my eyes are open. Craddol and the Emperor are, in a way, friends. You can swear your allegiance to one without renouncing the other."

"I guess that is good for me, then," said Levantia, relieved that he could continue worshipping the Emperor like before. Even better, if the White Hero confirmed the Emperor's divinity, then it was a given fact. It meant his faith was no longer blind and had more of a purpose now. Feeling more invigorate, Levantia asked eagerly, "So what's next? Where are we going?"

"To Craddol Coalition," White Hero replied. "Your story is something many would like to hear."

"And when am I back to the fight?" It could not be helped. With all his training and experience, physical strength and personal skills, his life would be empty and void of motivation without combat. Now that no more harm could be inflicted on Felia, he did not need to worry about protecting her.

He still wanted to serve a greater cause.

He still wanted to aid those in need while delivering punishment to the wicked.

And moreover, he still wanted to make the White Hero proud like he did as a child. Now was his chance to fulfil his life resolution.

The White Hero smiled. "Soon enough."

* * *

_Bonus story: game time._

Four days after their arrival and things were looking rather well. In fact, Levantia could not have hope for a better ending to his journey. Bruno had fully recovered (somehow) despite his lack of one arm. He and the White Hero also got on like a house on fire, much to Levantia's surprise. The two of them chatted for hours on ends about their past records. Apparently, before becoming the Dark Eldar Archon Slavara, the White Hero had served in a myriad of Astra Militarum regiments, including the Catachan and Mordian Iron Guards. His service history, according to him, was impressive. And where many fought in the Astra Militarum because they had no other choice, the White Hero merely considered it a way to train himself as well as get to know the forces of the Imperium better.

Felia had also made a recovery, though she was quite reserved being around others. Levantia could not blame her after all she had been through. The limiter attached to her brain had been safely removed by the White Hero, allowing her the full extent of her psychic capability, much to her relief. She had also donned new clothes and looked as gorgeous as ever, at least outside her naughty time with Levantia.

And Yanarr. Well, nothing happened to him. Which was a boon because he was a Dark Eldar, and while Levantia did not want to mistrust him, there were a plethora of things that could have gone wrong when they have a Dark Elar roaming around unchecked.

Gathering everyone in the common room, the White Hero invited them to play the Emperor's game. Since it was simple and there was nothing else to do as a group, Levantia and Bruno quickly agreed. It was the same game they used to play with other overseers back in their cell. After explaining the rule to Felia and Yanarr, both of them consented as well.

The Emperor's game was simple with each person drawing from a set of straws, each with a number on it except one which was marked "the Emperor". Whoever got to be the Emperor got to make one order for the others, using only the numbers to address their subject. Everyone else kept their number a secret until after the order had been declared so that the designated Emperor would have no idea who would be affected.

The first draw took place and...

"It seems your fate is at my hand," announced the White Hero, which could not be closer to the truth given their actual situation. "Now, I want number four to fetch that teapot over their and pour for each one of us."

"What kind of lame order is that?" Yanarr complained over how innocent it was.

"Tea is not lame," argued the White Hero.

"I think it is quite pleasant," Felia chimed in. "My throat is quite dry. Please."

"On it," Bruno said. He did as was told and proceeded to spill half the pot's content in the process, his larger fingers simply incapable of handling the delicate pot properly. "They should have made larger pots."

"They should have asked the Orks to make their pots," Yanarr sneered. Bruno gave him a glare that said, "I will remember this".

"I will take that into consideration when I next resupply," said the White Hero as he casually sipped his tea.

The next round, Levantia got to be the Emperor. He was torn. On one hand, he wanted to make fun of someone else and on the other, he did not want Felia to be the one to be made fun out of. So he went for something simple.

"Number three kiss number two in the cheek," he said.

"I guess that means me," said Felia, and Levantia was immediately glad he did not go for eating a Catachan chilly as originally intended. Had that been his order to number three, he might as well finish what Archon Feharuln Snaketongue had started.

"Number two here," said Bruno. The lucky bastard, Levantia thought.

Felia laid down the kiss on Bruno's cheek and the big man did not seem to care much. No wonder why he could not find a woman for himself.

"Where is the charming prince?" asked Yanarr. "The kiss has been made, then what is this big fat ugly Mon'Keigh still doing here? Why has the curse not yet been broken?"

"Only the true love kiss has the ability to do so," said the White Hero, nodding at Levantia who blushed, reckoning the fact kissing Felia had snapped her out of mind-control, twice. Felia also blushed at this comment.

Bruno shot the Dark Eldar another glare, this time saying, "You will get what you deserve".

Third round went to Yanarr. Levantia expected some crazy stuff to happen with this one, and he was not to be disappointed when the Dark Eldar gave his order, "Number four, put woman's underwear on your head, stand on your hands and bark like a dog."

"Fine then," said Bruno as he once again displayed stoicism against the odds. As he complied, Yanarr took out a pict capt and took in the whole thing.

"It looks like I have gathered enough data for my research on basic Mon'Keigh behaviour," said Yanarr. "If I could smuggle this back to Commorragh, I would make fortune."

"We split the profit fifty-fifty," said Bruno.

"Eighty-twenty," Yanarr countered. "Petting animals have no right to negotiate."

Bruno did his best to contain his anger, shooting at Yanarr a baleful glare that could only mean one thing:"FUCK YOU!".

Fourth round and, as if fate had it, it belonged to Bruno who was eager to have his revenge. The problem was, he did not know Yanarr's number, so there was only one way for his retaliation to be assured.

"Number one to four, give me eighty."

"Are you insane?" cried Levantia. A cluster punishment was something he had done nothing to deserve.

"With one arm."

"Are you fucking insane?!" Yanarr exclaimed.

"And one volume of the Codex Astartes on your back."

"Roboute Guilliman would not approve that," remarked the White Hero.

"I think I will pass on this," said Felia, withdrawing.

"Any of you ladies want to pass as well?" Bruno taunted.

Nobody said a thing. Yanarr was the first to collapse from the task, having done only sixty-two push-ups. Levantia made it to the end but was thoroughly worn, unable to even stand up, his right arm sore like a pipe under pressure three times its capacity. The White Hero not only was the first to finish but also looked like he could do another eighty without any issue.

"If I had my drug with me, this would have been a piece of cake," Yanarr whined.

"Drugs are the products of evil," the White Hero warned. "I will not have them on board."

"I think..we should call this off," panted Levantia.

"If you cannot take it anymore, then I see no reason why we should go on," the White Hero agreed.

"You should not have tried so hard," said Felia as she reached down to him. A smile ran across her face. Somehow, Levantia was not encouraged by that. "But now that you are weakened, I might finally gain an advantage on the bed. Today, the roles of Khaine and Isha will change hands, and the oppressor will know true horror as his prey becomes his downfall."

Levantia gulped in fear, his body still paralysed. Tonight, for the first time since his freedom from Archon Feharuln, he would know the meaning of helplessness.

* * *

_**Author's notes: Well guys, after more than two years of writing, this has finally come to an end. I am proud to say this is the first human x Eldar romance that sees its conclusion after the much-loved Suffer Not the Xenos to Live was on permanent hiatus. It was a great pleasure for me to write this and all you readers make it much more fun.**_

_**The material in this chapter is M rated, so be warned. However, having only one chapter like that is not going to make a difference to the whole of the story, so I am leaving it at T. Warhammer 40k's general theme is already dark and violent anyway, so people coming here should be well-prepared. I understand this story is not a grimdark as some people might expect, but a lot of the grimdark official materials feel stupid and without reasons. This is literature first and Warhammer 40k second. Literature standards must come BEFORE grimdark elements.**_

_**With the upcoming release of Dawn of War 3, I don't know what to say about it. I play Dota 2, but I am not fond of Relic borrowing so many elements from this. 3 factions are too few for the Warhammer 40k universe, and the fact both Eldar and Space Marines are featured make me even less excited. Graphic looks really good, but the Eldar and Space Marine infantry models are ugly as hell. Their movements are also retarded. The story is absurd in the extreme. Space Marines preventing Eldar from self-harming and not the other way around? And why is Gabriel trying to stop Macha even though he was the one who released the Maledictum which resulted in the destruction of most of his Chapter?**_

_**What I like about the game so far is that the game allows you to choose a loadout with 3 commanders and 3 powerups, something similar to Company of Heroes 2 (though you can ultimately choose one commander in the match). The Orks is the only faction that looks really cool. Their designs and animation are quite badass. The voices for the Space Marines are also better than Dawn of War 2 where it sounds all the same. Now, Space Marines do sound differently.**_

_**All in all, I really hope Dawn of War 3 would be good. Because otherwise, they would not release DLC and there would be no Chaos or Tau race in the future. So there's that.**_

**_Moving on from this, I will try to finish half-written stories out of honour, as well as cracking up some one-shots. However, I am intending on writing Danganronpa SYOC story since I recently got interested in that genre. I will still try to read and review Warhammer 40k stories, though._**

**_One again, thank you for coming with me until the end. May the Emperor be with you._**


End file.
